As you may recall, yesterday I took Noam to visit the doctor and was given the task to go home and google 'stridor'. I discovered it was a rather unpleasant affliction and was, of course, listening to any minute change in his breathing.
Today things were worse. The poor little mite was struggling badly so I called 'nurses on call' on the advice of my very clever sister. Nurses on call are an excellent service (particularly useful after hours) who can help you determine whether there is anything serious wrong with yourself or your bubbas. After running through all the symptoms the lovely nurse said we should take him to an emergency ward to be checked for any offending 'stridors'.
So we popped up to Kyneton hospital where a nice nurse did all sorts of checks and tests before telling us we needed to see the doctor but we'd have to nip back to Woodend for that. No worries, since we live in Woodend.
The doctor met us at the clinic and gave the little man a good going over before saying that we should take a trip to the Children's Hospital for some further investigation. Rightio.
Noam was pretty calm during all this, though occassionally he got over it all and lost his shit for a bit. He slept on the dirve to Melbourne and we fronted up at the kids emergency ward where we first saw the triage nurse and then waited for our turn with the doctor.
The Dr did all the same tests as the nurse in Kyneton but wasn't happy that Noam's heart rate was high. So we had to sit around for a while to see if it decreased. This did not impress Frenchy. He had come to the conclusion that our trip into the Children's Hospital was a massive waste of time and had a face on him like a smashed crab. To be fair, Noam was over it. He was exhausted but upset with all the prodding. I, on the other hand, wanted all possibilities ruled out before we went home.
Frenchy paced up and down with Noam, periodically stopping to shoot me a 'this is friggin' ridiculous' looks. I thought he was going to have a crack at the good folk who spend their lives helping sick kids...Not cool. But he didn't. He hung on. Thank God. Because Noam was given the all clear shortly after and we were sent home with the same advice the 'google' Dr gave us yesterday. Panadol and fluids.
Frenchy returned to normal as soon as we were in the car and we both had a good laugh at the idea of some pretentious Frenchman going off in the kid's hospital.
It's just after midnight now and we began this saga about 6pm. So you see, I think it's a pretty good deed to sit up and write this when my eyes are quite seriously closing as I type. The spelling mistakes I'll find tomorrow!!
Until tomorrow do-gooders xx
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