By Nicole White
It was mid-December. Forrest had just turned 4 a few weeks earlier, and my husband, Bo, was deployed to the Middle East. I’d taken our son and daughter to Montana, my home state, to be with my family for the holidays.
We made a good dent in our holiday to-do list right away: we hunted for the perfect wild Christmas tree and made the same Christmas cookies in my Grandma’s kitchen that I had as a child. When Forrest picked up a cold, he had a hard time shaking it. I never could have prepared for what was racking his little lungs.
Nebulizer
It was a Monday. Forrest’s cold had gotten worse over the last few days and his breathing had become more and more labored. That night he woke up panicked, gasping for air. It was the second episode.
We’d done Vicks Vapo Rub and fresh air and cough medicine. None of it seemed to help. Maybe the ER could give him a nebulizer treatment, I thought; help him sleep this yucky cold off. So, we went to the hospital. In the far recesses of my mind I wondered if he could possibly have pneumonia.