Helplessness.Histinex.Heroism

Audrey coughed last night every 15 seconds for four hours straight.


And it's been this way for the past three nights.


Tried Benadryl to dry up her nose to keep it from dripping down the back of her throat.


She had three spoonfuls of honey (allegedly helps a cough).


We took two showers (1:13 a.m. and 4:10 a.m.)


We feel totally helpless and all I want to do is cry.


For her. For Eric. For me.


Audrey has gotten a terrible cough each time she has contracted a cold since since Sept. 14, 2003 (8 weeks after she was born). If it seems like I am counting dates, times, weeks, etc. I am. And I am waiting for it to end.


Audrey has been to the ER at least a dozen times for rapid breathing. No, not rapid breathing. Panting. At one point her breathing was 110 breaths per minute. She was hospitalized at six months in need of oxygen. I have held the phone to her mouth so the nurses on the Children's Hospital hotline can hear her breathing and cough more times than I can count. Each time they've told me to bring her to the nearest hospital ASAP.


I've taken her to ERs in Florida, South Carolina, two different ones in Washington--and Children's docs came to know Audrey.


She was always seen immediately due to labored breathing. One nurse said she sounded like a 70 year old senior with emphysema.


After nursing it would take her more than an hour to clear her lungs. She would cough. No, she would wretch. So finally I pumped and we thickened my milk with something called THICK IT. It didn't work. She had a pulmonary specialist and a gastro one. She was on Pulmicort and Albuterol- twice a day --for months. She was on Prevacid. She had oral steroids administered every time we went to the ER. And nothing worked. NOTHING.





I so vividly recall the sounds of the oxygen machine beeping as the levels dipped below 85. I can feel the hard mattress under me on the pull out couch in a condo in Disney World that I held her on for 6 straight hours in the middle of the night. I remember that it was a balmy April night in Missouri as Eric and I sat on a curb outside my brother's house at 3 a.m. holding her so as not to wake the sleeping family inside. I could drive to Children's blindfolded now after the harried, frantic treks I made in the thick of so many dark late nights. I could probably identify the medics who came to get Audrey in the ambulance that cold winter night. And I could scream. I know things could be much, much worse. For the most part Audrey is healthy---until she contracts a cold.





For her first years of life we wanted to put her in a bubble. When well intentioned parents brought their kids around since their kids "just had a little cough" we were distraught. We cancelled more playdates than I can count.

Drs. say she will grow out of it. Her latest swallow study shows she is doing better. She certainly doesn't get as many colds. And her Cystic Fibrosis test came back negative. THANK GOD. And most of all-throughout all of this--Audrey is sheer joy.


Earlier today en route to the shower call at 1:12 a.m. she blew a kiss to Eric in bed and said, "God bless him." She paused to pet Fribble sleeping on his bed in our closet. Alice the dog joined us in her bed, on the couch, and upright in the chair as I juggled Audrey trying desperately to get her comfortable. Each time Audrey would tuck Alice in.


She gave me so many kisses as I rocked her. She told me what a great mom I was as she took the honey and the cough suppresant. And then Eric found a bottle of Histinex from a doc she had seen in a pediatrician's office in Chesterfield, Missouri. He was the only dr. that ever prescribed something that remotely worked. And there was some left! And then finally she rested. Hisitinex is apparently a combination antihistamine, cough suppresant and sleeping aid. The theory is if she can finally get to a deep sleep her body will not react as readily to the constant tickle in her throat. He was right. And at that moment he was my real-life hero. So was Eric for finding it (Eric said when he stumbled upon it in the base of the medicine kit he equated it to what it must be like for a junkie to score Heroin...). Webster defines "Hero" as an object of extreme admiration and one who shows courage. So while the dr. and my dear husband were Godsends...It is little Audrey that best personifies what it means to be a Hero.

Audrey at 10 months getting her daily breathing treatment