OK, now my son Scott was born three weeks premature (not that you’d have guessed it since he was 9lb 2oz at birth) but he was born by semi-elective caesarian section which runs the risk of the baby breathing in a bit of amnionic fluid on the way out (which of course he did) and causing a bit of minor damage to his lungs. So he wasn’t breathing properly when he came out and was whisked off almost immediately to be put on oxygen.
So off he went and I was left watching them sew Helen back together (which is very interesting in a gory sort of way). I didn’t get to see him for a couple of hours after that and Helen had to wait until the next morning which had her climbing the walls.
He spent a week in an incubator and it was possibly one of the scariest weeks of my life, even thought everyone told us it was perfectly normal and nothing to worry about. I still listen every night before I go to sleep that he’s still breathing OK.
So as a rule I get understandably panicky when he starts to breath funny.
So this morning at 5-30 I was pulling on my cloths and driving him to the hospital. Basically he had of croup which isn’t particularly pleasant for him but he’s had it before so we weren’t quite as freaked out as before (although he did sound like a distressed walrus).
Of course to make the day a tad more interesting he’d kept me up because he’s teething until 2 the night before so I’d only had about three and a half hours sleep, it was snowing, and today at 10am was my annual staff review at work.
All in all an interesting day.
