Looking through the only window in the hospital room, all I see is a blanket of fog. The weather is quite fitting for where we are at emotionally, physically, and even spiritually. It’s somewhat comforting, as if the Earth, in this part of the world, is connecting with us and every other admitted patient in here.
It started on Sunday. Elias would randomly cough… as most newborns do, but it seemed louder and deeper than normal. I have never had a baby fall ill until after their first year, so I didn’t pay much attention to it. By Monday, he was completely congested and starting to do some funny breathing. I ended up taking him in to the doctor, finding out that he had caught a minor cold and should be fine.
By Wednesday, he seemed a little bit better. He was still very mucousy, but his breathing seemed to mellow out. Wednesday night, as I lay in his room, I heard him breathing quickly, in a gasp-like manor. The next morning, his breathing was even more labored. I called the pediatrician and set an appointment to bring him in. By the time we got there, his lips were turning blue. The doctor checked his oxygen rate and requested a transfer to the ER via-ambulance. It happened so quickly, all I could do was cry. I could see the writing on the wall. The poking, the prodding, the testing, the crying, the restraining. My mind became fogged with concern for my tiny baby boy and for his brother who would be separated from him.
It started on Sunday. Elias would randomly cough… as most newborns do, but it seemed louder and deeper than normal. I have never had a baby fall ill until after their first year, so I didn’t pay much attention to it. By Monday, he was completely congested and starting to do some funny breathing. I ended up taking him in to the doctor, finding out that he had caught a minor cold and should be fine.
By Wednesday, he seemed a little bit better. He was still very mucousy, but his breathing seemed to mellow out. Wednesday night, as I lay in his room, I heard him breathing quickly, in a gasp-like manor. The next morning, his breathing was even more labored. I called the pediatrician and set an appointment to bring him in. By the time we got there, his lips were turning blue. The doctor checked his oxygen rate and requested a transfer to the ER via-ambulance. It happened so quickly, all I could do was cry. I could see the writing on the wall. The poking, the prodding, the testing, the crying, the restraining. My mind became fogged with concern for my tiny baby boy and for his brother who would be separated from him.
(Elias getting some rest, finally)
It was discovered through testing that Elias tested positive for RSV. They also wanted to treat him for pneumonia, due to an unknown mass on his x-ray. I declined treatment, knowing that we would be admitted in a different hospital, where they would do the same tests, and hoped that possibly, with their higher level of equipment, would find that my boy did not have pneumonia and could avoid unnecessary antibiotics. I’m so glad I did. We found out later that the “mass” was probably mucous and nothing to worry about. They have yet to administer antibiotics on him.
Jason and Elias were transferred via-ambulance to the larger hospital, August and I followed. When we arrived, we found out that August and Jason were unable to stay there, as August was not in distress. The fog rolled over me again. More separation from my babies? How would I do this? How do I feed them? I cried, again. The doctor, who clearly understood our situation, admitted August as a patient. After all, he appeared to be showing early signs of RSV, and most likely would follow the path of his brother. I never thought I would be thankful for a baby to test positive for RSV, but in this situation, since it was inevitable that he would get it anyway, I was elated that they tested him, that he proved to be positive, and that they admitted him as well. This meant that we would get our own room and our boys could be together. 
(August--no need for oxygen!)
We’ve been here less than 24 hours. I’m emotionally spent. Thankfully, as both boys are stable and the staff, so helpful and accommodating, we are able to sit and actually laugh together (surely a good sign!). We don’t know how long we will be here, what being away for so long will entail, or where we are getting our next meal. But we’re here, with our boys, and everyone is well-taken care of.
Thank you to my amazing community of friends and family who are helping or offering help. We could not have survived the last year without you all. Who knew that the Mockabee family would become so needy? Ha! (I told you we are able to laugh now…)