January 31, 2013


I don't know why it still catches me by surprise.  It is the same every winter.  My buddy catches a cold.  He coughs and coughs.  He almost gets better.  My buddy catches another cold.  He coughs and coughs even more.  He seems to be on the mend when Whamo! the junk in his chest seems to take over.  We have one of those nights where you debate taking my buddy to the emergency room.  Finally morning comes and we can see our doctor.  There is so much junk that he needs to cough out and he may have pneumonia.  Antibiotics are prescribed.

This year my buddy decided to spice things up by adding in a bed full of vomit.  My least favorite thing in the world.  During the 'long night' I curse his inability to tell me what is wrong.  Is he crying because something really hurts?  Is he freaked out because he just wants to be sleeping instead of nonstop coughing?  If he would just listen to me and calm down and breathe in the vapor steam and let me prop him up he would cough a little less.  Instead he thrashes around his poor little body hammered by the coughing fits.

I know in the grand scheme of things, our illness is nothing compared to what others go through.  I am grateful that all it takes to heal him is a prescription.  I have high hopes that as he gets bigger and stronger we will no longer have to endure the 'long night'.  

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