We have a sick little guy on our hands

My poor little Noah is sick. It started last Friday when he seemed to have caught the cold that Anthony had been fighting but its since lingered, and turned into a nasty cough. That nasty cough then turned into a rattly chest and wheezing. I fought with myself all night last night about waiting until morning to take him to the dr appointment I had scheduled or taking him into urgent care right then, after he had eaten nothing but two bottles and one jar of food all day and cried for a large majority of the day. When he wasn't crying, he was wimpering. I finally decided at that point it would be better for him to get rest in the comfort of his own home instead of being kept awake all night being poked and proded. When he woke up this morning he was significantly less cranky, even gave us some smiles, but the wheezing, coughing, and rattly breathing remained so we went to the doctors appointment as scheduled. It turns out my poor little man has bronchiolitis, which is an upper respritory infection. They gave him a breathing treatment there in the dr's office and sent us home armed with an inhaler to use 4-5 times a day and a long list of things to watch for. 

I was busy wallowing, feeling upset that my poor baby had to use breathing treatments when I saw them. The paramedics. And their patient was a tiny little 6 week old baby wearing a tiny little oxygyn mask. This baby was also having respritory issues, clearly much more intense than Noah's. I had to stop in my tracks and thank God right then and there because i'll take at home breathing treatments all day every day over being rushed to the hospital. Even in times when we feel like things are bad, God reminds us that it could be worse.



My Nono, falling asleep during his breathing treatment in the dr's office.