An Ugly Day

I'm actually not even sure what to say about today, other than I'm glad it's over. Except that it's not, really. To say that it's over would imply that I will soon go to bed, and that tomorrow will be a new and different day. But there aren't really tomorrows in this house. One day bleeds into the next in a fog of tears and seemingly never-ending struggles with our sweet little girl's baffling health issues. It's hard to tell which I dread more: the night, with its uncertainty--will she sleep? How many times will she wake up? How much crying will there be? What will the crying be about? The reflux? The constipation? The coughing? Another ear infection? Gas?--or the day, with its relentless cycle of "doing", all 24 hours performed in a near-constant state of sleep-deprived anxiety and desperation. But today...today needs to be over. The hits need to stop coming.

Last night we got very little sleep because Emma was up coughing half the night. I actually ended up "sleeping" on the couch with her for a couple of hours, because it was just easier than going into her room to get her every two minutes when she woke up in a coughing fit (I desperately wish that was an exaggeration). This morning Emma's babysitter called while I was on the way to her house to tell me she couldn't watch Emma today because she broke her arm. This resulted in a flurry of phone calls while driving, photo-copying and trying to drop off the other kid and start my work day. Matt left work, picked Emma up, and took her home to be with him for the day. After handing out the quiz, my students asked why I was giving them a quiz they took two weeks ago. Oops. The doctor emailed and said I should consider taking Emma in for an upper GI to look for obstructions, twisting, or any other intestinal issues. She also ordered a chest x-ray to check for atypically presenting pneumonia or aspiration pneumonia (from the reflux--stomach acid going up into the trachea and into the lungs). Also, I should consider weaning her and giving her special hypoallergenic formula, as she may be severely allergic to milk proteins. All new options and avenues to find answers to the question we've been grappling with for six and a half months: what all is wrong with Emma; why is she so miserable, and why can't she sleep?

After work I took her in for the chest x-ray. No pneumonia, which is good. But she is wheezing, so it's likely she has asthma (common in GERDy babies). She's on breathing treatments until the coughing is under control and she's sleeping. We're waiting to see how that goes before getting the upper GI. And I'm deciding if I want to pump and give her the billion dollar formula for three days to see if it helps. And I'll be home with her tomorrow since the babysitter is incapacitated. And I'll be trying to figure out what in the world I will do with her next week, and for a while thereafter, or whatever, for childcare. And somewhere in the middle I will do laundry, prepare meals, and attempt to manage my life.

This evening I resurrected the Colic Playlist on the iPod and put it on the speaker. As "Holocene" played on repeat and Emma began to calm and breathe normally, the tears fell freely down my cheeks.

I can do this, right?