The Plague

This last month has been a whirlwind of snot and phlegm and vomit. Oliver has been through hell and back and yet as he hacks up a lung and his eyes water he composes himself and continues to play, this little man is a warrior. The chaos started with our trip to Riley’s where we were supposed to get a sedated MRI. After almost three hours in the car we arrived, got settled in, and then after 45 minutes of them stabbing my baby over and over again could not get an IV in him and told us to turn around and go home. As annoying as that was, the night to come would be worse. At about 2 a.m. the stomach flu hit and we spent the next day cleaning up vomit and diarrhea and it ended with a stint in the ER with an IV in his scalp for dehydration. After recovering from the flu Oliver went right into a diagnosis of RSV that turned into RSV bronchitis. We spend two and a half days in the hospital with oxygen, nebulizer treatments, steroids, and no sleep. We are finally home and I know that all of this means being ever further behind in his milestones. His physical therapy will have regressed to several weeks previous, and we are that much farther away from him eating solid foods, but he is here, and he is home, and he is smiling. I thank my parents for being here for us, I don’t know what I would have done without them, but this last month of doctors appointments and rescheduling, hospital stays and medication administration just reiterates how alone I am in this. In the two and a half days that we were in the hospital his father visited a total of a little over an hour, he never asked if he should stay, he never tried to help. He visited, like a distant relative. But here we are, home again, gotten through this alone, we are stronger than we knew a few days ago and we will continue to be stronger with ever bump in the road, for he is my little warrior and I am his Momma.