Nora is coughing. It has been almost five whole months since we endured our last around the clock albuterol treatments, vomit-inducing coughing fits, and never-ending trips to the doctor. I even made the mistake of saying out loud to Nora last night that we were going to stop doing her mask (the pulmicort we’ve been on since November) this week as she winds down her time at daycare and enters her “healthy” time of year.
And today she is coughing.
She coughs and I hear pneumonia.
She coughs and I take a mental note of where her barf bowl is.
She coughs and I hold the mask a little tighter to her face.
She coughs and I wonder how long it will be until we are at the doctor’s office again,filling more prescriptions, hoping it doesn’t last and last like it always does.
She coughs and either Ken or I or both of us say, “Oh, Nora.”
She coughs and it is me who feels a little stabbing pain in my heart.