Yesterday felt a little too similar to what happened one year ago.
Last night I took Clara (with Luke tagging along) to the doctor's for a nagging cold that had turned into a cough. I was annoyed that the three of us waited for what seemed like forever when the nurse brought us back and made note of an odd sound Clara was making when she breathed out. She listened to her chest, said nothing, and then quickly left the room. I could hear her next door getting a doctor. Great. I started to panic.
The doctor came in, listened as well without saying a word (don't you hate that?), and then ordered a breathing treatment and an RSV test. You have got to be kidding me.
There I was, alone, on the same side of the building as last year (I haven't been in that part of the office since that day), giving Clara a treatment, hoping it would drastically help. The only difference this time - other than Luke sleeping nearby in his car seat - was that it did. Help, that is. And the RSV test was negative. Thank the Lord.
I'm not completely sure what her diagnosis was - because I wasn't feeling too hot myself and my head was even cloudier after the brief scare - but she basically, probably, has some sort of virus causing her cold and cough, and also possibly allergies. They sent us home with albuterol and singulair.
She fought me hard as I gave her the breathing treatment in the exam room (picture a one-year-old running around in just her diaper and pink leopard-print socks as I try to stick a mask in her face) and continues to do so here at home, but I swore in that office that every time I struggle to give her a treatment I'll just remember how thankful I am that we're in our living room and not in the pediatric unit of the hospital.
Of course, I've already had to remember that several times today. Although just as I'm about to lose it, she reels me back in with something adorable like this (the thing on the left is what delivers the medicine, in case you didn't know):
Believe me, just moments earlier there was a lot of crying and squirming going on - on both our parts!
I'm not sure how well the treatments are working. She still has her junky cough and her nose is running like crazy. I don't feel like we're out of the woods just yet. If you could, please pray for Clara's complete recovery from this cold, or whatever it is. She has still been her cute, hilarious self, but I can tell she definitely doesn't feel well. And to top it all off, she's cutting two teeth. Poor baby.
And while I'm posting videos, here's another from today. Ignore the toys strewn everywhere, please (and yes, she's kissing him, but at this point I'm sure he's already been exposed to whatever she has). And listen closely after she falls onto Luke. She tells herself "gentle," echoing what she hears me say in that very situation all day long. I absolutely love that she already has her mother's voice in her head, and I'm hoping it stays there!