Yesterday Jonas woke up with a choking cough. By noon he had begun barking like a seal, and after kind of thinking I knew what was going on, and then having it confirmed by several internet friends, and Chris’ aunt Janet over the phone, I ended up in the ER where the doctor agreed that he had croup. I have never dealt with croup before. Oh, I’ve heard stories. I have little cousins who’ve had it and Very Mom’s kids get it (and I did consider calling her rather late last night to say, “you don’t know me, but would you diagnose my son’s cough over the phone please?” but I figured she’d think I was completely nuts, and I might wake up her new baby.) So I’ve heard of it and it’s many cures.

At any rate, we spent a lovely hour and a half in the ER waiting room with Jonas killing time by using the bathroom about fifteen times (I know someday he might google this and be embarrassed that I announce his bathroom proclivities for all the world, but seriously, Jonas, this defecation as entertainment thing is wearing on me. Dad too. Stop it already.) To add to our entertainment a really stupid seventeen year old kid came in with a hurt leg. I say really stupid because when his mother showed up ten minutes later he told her he had a had a few drinks at his friend’s house, and when she freaked out, he acted like it was no big deal and thought she was overreacting. He claimed his leg had hurt, so he was going to kill the pain with alcohol. Can I just say right now that since Alcohol Makes People Stupid, it would stand to reason that Stupid People Shouldn’t Drink! His mother looked like she was going to explode, and as he tried to laugh it off, I looked at him and said, “If you were MY kid, I’d break your other leg!” To which the mother thanked me for validating her indignation at her son being a totally asinine little punk.

Once we got into the ER, the doctor gave Jonas some Motrin to bring down the 102 .3 fever I didn’t realize he had (Bad Mommy Award, here I come) and sent a tech to get some meds to keep the swelling in his lungs down. While we were waiting a technician suddenly ran over to the gurney with a small, pale boy in his arms. The boy was glassy eyed and twitching. The air was suddenly filled with orders to keep his airway open being barked back and forth. I stood there, frozen, horrified at the sight of him, thinking what every mother thinks when she sees a child hurting: That could be my child. I just stood there in shock staring at this tiny boy, when suddenly it hit me that it was my friend’s son, Logan. Right as I realized that she ran into the ER, hysterical. I immediately went to her as the doctors were drawing the curtains. I stood there with her as the doctors shot a million questions at her, and then, realizing that I was there shoo-ed me out of the space where I could only listen to them try to figure out what was wrong and try to comfort Jonas as he kept asking me what was wrong. A few minutes later the doctor invited me back in, realizing that I was a friend.

Apparently, Logan had had a seizure. They assumed it was due to his fever, which wasn’t much higher than Jonas’. He was still not quite right, but clearly improving as he was trying to remove all of the wires and monitors. One always forgets to be grateful for a contrary child, forgetting that a contrary child is a healthy child. Logan is ok now. I’m still shaking a little inside.

I always worry about my children dying. It is truly the worst thing I can imagine. The mere thought causes emotional and mental paralysis, and the only way to get through a day is to simply put the thought out of my head. Every time they get sick, this little bout of croup, for example, my mind fast forwards to a worst case scenario where Jonas’ lungs swell so much he can’t breath and it kills him. I have to tell myself to shut up and remind myself that children who keep dragging me to the potty are really not in any danger of immediate death. But to see something like this, so graphically, to really be questioning if this child was going to be alive in two minutes, scared me so much. It was too real and too close. I can’t dwell on it. It must be pushed out of my mind so I can go back to the childlike belief that nothing bad could ever happen to my little family.