This week, I have been feeling not so hot, and by "not so hot" I mean feel like a pile of trash run over by a truck "not so hot."
Saturday, I had what might have been an asthma attack, the second I have had this month so I made a doctor's appointment for Thursday. However, I kept feeling worse and worse like there was a rubber band across my lungs constantly preventing me from taking a deep breath. Yesterday, I decided I couldn't take it anymore, and I moved my appointment up. I knew my mother-in-law was busy, and I knew if I called her she would help me out. However, I decided there was no reason to bother her...I could handle it.
As I entered the waiting room of the doctor's office with the boys, all I could think was, "Let it be empty. Let it be empty." I didn't want the boys getting sick because they came to the doctor with me. Fortunately, there was just one other person in the waiting room and he didn't look contagious.
As we waited, Brandon pulled out a notepad and pen and opened it up.
B - "What's wrong with you Mommy?"
me - "I can't breathe good."
B - "Are you going to die?" (with a strong emphasis on the word die)
me - "No, I just need to get some medicine."
B- "Good, cause I didn't want you to die." (with a strong emphasis on the word die)
The other man in the waiting room heard the entire exchange, and I can only guess what he thought.
When a nurse took us back to the examining room, B walked in with his notepad and pen, and stood where the doctor normally stands. Before the nurse could ask me what was wrong, B spoke up, "She can't breathe good. See here, she has skin covering her nose (points at picture of a scribble in his notebook). Mommy, you need one of those strips that goes across your nose." (He's seen one too many Breathe Right Strip commercial). The nurse of course laughed and said how cute my boys were.
When the doctor came in to examine me, I held Collin the entire time. I didn't want him touching anything in the room, much less crawling on the floor. I talked with the doctor about my situation, and she checked me out. The entire trip to the doctor was flawless (at least flawless for us) and the boys were amazing, but then the doctor said, "I'm going to get you a breathing treatment."
We had to wait about 20 minutes because the machine was in use. For twenty minutes, I bounced the boys on my knees, and we played every game I could remember. At some point, I had to put Collin on the floor, and I prayed a little "Lord please protect my baby from all these germs" prayer.
When I finally started the breathing treatment, the boys stared stunned and still for about two minutes marveling at the machine. Then they looked at each other, and I think their eyes said, "Mom, can't move much...PARTY!" They started wheeling around the doctors stool, so I got off the exam table and sat on it. They started wheeling around the machine that checks all your vitals. With the breathing treatment in my mouth, I tried to say, "No no." but it sounded more like, "Oh oh."
When the breathing treatment finished, the doctor came back, checked me again, and then said, "I want to get a chest x-ray just to make sure it's not pneumonia."
**Life lesson 398,336,943: If anyone ever throws around the "p" word..."silent p" word in reference to you, you will immediately feel 10 times worse just hearing that it could even be the "silent p" word.
Anyway, the chest x-ray place was across the street, but I went home. I was wore out, and radiation and toddlers don't really go together. When Shad came home, I went in and got my x-ray all by myself.
Although I don't know exactly what's wrong with me yet, I did learn a valuable lesson.
Life Lesson 398,336,944: When I say the words "I can handle it" I will be proven wrong... every time.