Scared.

Yep, you read that right:  scared. I am scared.

If you missed it, my last post was a month ago - almost exactly. Graden had pneumonia. During this time, we have been vigilant with breathing treatments, antibiotics, oral steroids. We have visited the doctor for a few x-rays, several check-ins, and even a flu shot. Today, was supposed to be one of those "follow-ups." And, honestly, I thought he was getting better. 

Graden has had a good week. He is eating again (always a good sign for him!), he is laughing, playing, and having great days at school, and (most importantly for me) his emotions have been back on track. Sleeping well? Check. Coughing less? Check. Fever-free? Yes, thank goodness. Despite all this, I knew he wasn't completely better. I thought he was on the uphill climb, though. At our visit today, I'm not sure I expected her to say he was "in the clear," but I certainly didn't expect her to sound as discouraged as I felt. 

We were her first appointment after the lunch break - always a great time to go, in my opinion. She came right in and teased Graden as she always does. I love this about her... comforting and truly caring about Grado. But, as she listened through her stethoscope, I knew she wasn't happy. She was quiet. She's never quiet. She usually makes a comment immediately... a "oh, Graden" or "much better" or "okay, we can work with this"... something. Not today. 

Today, there was nothing. 

I could see it in her eyes. Her gestures. The way she listened intently and grabbed his chart and her chair before speaking. While she studied (or maybe searched for the right words), I - impatiently - asked "how bad?"

She informed me that Graden's lungs are still inflamed; he is not moving air through his lungs as easily as he should be and is working hard to breathe. Of course, I knew he was coughing and was still getting "worked up" if he played too hard, but I can't believe I missed this. As quickly as the guilt came, the questions immediately followed... "What does that mean?" "What are we going to do?" 

Basically, she told me, we have done all we can do on our own. We've done all the medicines, all the breathing treatments, the x-rays... it's time to visit our Pulmonologist. He is great; he is one of the best. I get that. I appreciate that. But, I don't want that. 

Okay, I lied. I do want to see him. I want Graden to be better, but I hate - and that's not used lightly - I HATE watching Graden fight. Sure, as his mom, I'm proud to know what he has overcome. I'm thankful he is here. I know it could be worse. I get all of that. But, damn it! This kid needs a break. If it isn't his brain, it's his lungs -- arguably two of your most important organs. He has spent all five of his years fighting to be healthy...

We talked a bit more before I left the office; I think I was in shock. I kept asking questions even though she couldn't really answer them. Luckily, she knows I'm normally quite "put together." I wanted to know what the Pulmonologist would do that she couldn't. I wanted to know what was causing the "inflamed lungs." I wanted to know why his pulse ox was lower than it had been in awhile... there were so many questions to ask. 

The problem? There are no answers yet. There could be several things causing his inflammation, all of which are (at this point) serious and scary, which is why we are off to see the Pulmonologist; he can dig deeper and more thoroughly, and I know that. I'm just...

scared. Very scared.

You may not realize, but the last time Graden worked to hard to breathe, his body got too tired, and he quit... he stopped breathing all together. 

Sure, he has grown a lot since then. But, that was where my mind instantly took me. So, I'm scared. I'm impatient. I'm worried. I'm sad... all for my sweet, ornery little Grado, who I know is much tougher than his Momma -- thankfully.