Just when I get life under control... under my control... The Great Puppet Master in the Sky strikes again.
Little TyTy came down with a cold + fever on Friday evening, and on Saturday both boys woke up a little hoarse and puny. I dosed them both with a little Benadryl and Tylenol as usual, and we all curled up on the couch and watched
When I leaned over to kiss his little face, I saw that it was completely gray.
I picked him up and shook him, yelling his name. He was so, so gray, and his lips were completely blue.
He just flopped, completely limp. He was not breathing. He was completely unresponsive.
And the rest, as they say, really was just a blur.
I yelled out for Shep, over and over. I laid Dax down and started administering rescue breaths. I gave him sternum rubs as I was doing it hoping to jar him back awake.
Shep called 911. He yelled at Dax to wake up as he gave the dispatch Dax's info.
I just kept breathing for Dax and shaking him and begging him to breathe.
And then he did. Praise God, he did. I don't know how long it took; I don't know when. But he did.
I ran upstairs with him and put him on his oxygen and pulse oximeter, and I held him. When I placed him on his bed so I could look at him, he was still so limp, and so unresponsive, and so... not himself. But he was breathing.
When the First Responders arrived he was stable, and after their assessments he and I load into the ambulance for Dax's very first emergent ambulance ride since the day I went into labor with the him and his sister.
I'd sleep a whole lot better if there were.
But, for now, we're going to hang out in the hospital a while, to wait, and watch, and... be thankful...