Betty's been under the weather for the last few weeks. I'm generally not an alarmist when it comes to childhood illnesses (or, for that matter, any illnesses) and I typically tend to let these things ride their course. This bug seemed to be lingering, but "it was going around," and then it seemed that we'd turned the corner on this.
Or so thought until Tuesday, when the school nurse called saying that Betty had a fever and needed to go home.
Four hours later we were in the doctor's office, where he suspected that she had, at the very least, severe bronchiolitis - but most likely, walking pneumonia. He didn't like the sounds in her lungs. Betty was given a breathing treatment, I was given a tutorial on operating a nebulizer and we were both sent home with MisterNeb as well as a prescription for Zithromax. We are to do three breathing treatments with the nebulizer per day, and each one takes about 10 minutes.
After just a few of these, Betty started feeling better and her cough has pretty much disappeared. And along the way, I've noticed that there's something strangely relaxing about this process of doing these breathing treatments.
For most of us, life gets a bit more hectic than usual at this time of year - at least that's the case in our household. I haven't done our holiday cards (although they have been ordered and have arrived!), I've barely started my Christmas shopping, and I need to bake a blizzard of cookies this weekend as gifts for The Dean's staff. Not to mention that I work in a field where this is one of the busiest times of the year, and our before/after school provider is on vacation starting on Monday (necessitating a wacky schedule for the four of us), and yeah ... you've got the makings of a busy time.
But three times a day we're sitting ... and breathing ... breathing ... breathing ... and dare I say that there is something quite pleasant and enjoyable about this.
A gift of stillness in a season that is often anything but.