I hoped the cold outside would open his airways. When I saw no change, I started silently pleading to God. Once the ambulance arrived, the paramedics moved quickly. They brought oxygen to the porch.
“Shouldn’t he go in there?” I said pointing to the ambulance.
They gave a quick look to each other. “We need to do as much as we can here,” one of the paramedics said.
In my head, I just kept saying please over and over again. One paramedic went to the ambulance to make a call to the hospital. The other one tried giving oxygen to Thorin, but he was fighting him, shaking his head and pushing away the paramedic’s hands.
“Hey, Dad, you gotta hold him still!” he said to Ward.
When the other guy came back, he was still talking to the hospital. In conferring with the person on the other end of the line, it was decided they give Thorin a shot.
Suddenly, I was looking down on the scene from above. I could see Thorin struggling; Ward and I stricken with fear; the paramedics busy with the details of administering aid; and the ambulance with flashing lights. Just as suddenly, I was jerked back in my body.
It was clear the paramedics were looking for a specific response from Thorin. When it didn’t come, and after conferring again with the hospital, one paramedic told us it was time to move. Ward, carrying Thorin, jumped into the back of the ambulance with the guy on the phone. I got in the front seat with the driver. He didn’t look at me. He also didn’t say anything to me, such as “It’s going to be fine” or “Don’t worry.” So, I asked.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“How old is he?”
I looked at the driver’s profile. His arms were rigid, and his hands grasped the wheel tightly. He drove very fast. When we came to a one-way street, he pulled on to the street instead of bypassing it.
“We don’t want to waste time,” the driver said as we sped down the street.
If we’d gone the other way it would have been another three blocks, too many in his mind. I gave up hope Thorin would be okay.
I checked out again—not as an observer above the scene but completely gone. The next thing I remembered was being on a stretcher with Thorin lying on top of me. His chest was against mine. I could feel his breathing was still labored, but his chest wasn’t heaving wildly. He was crying quietly. He reached up and put his hand on my neck, slick with tears. I looked up and saw we were in a room with several people in white coats. A doctor had her hand on Thorin’s back; she stroked his hair. He pulled closer to me.
“He’s okay, gentlemen,” she said to the paramedics. “He’s going to be okay.”
“He made a liar of me,” the driver said. “He was coding out! He was!”
She looked up at him, “Yes, he was. He turned it around though.”
Even in that moment, I thought it was interesting that she gave credit to Thorin.
“Okay, most of you can leave. We have it under control, thankfully,” she said.
A nurse lifted Thorin while I moved from the stretcher. Another nurse put tubes in his nose for oxygen, then she hooked him up to a monitor. Thorin did not fight her. After several minutes, Thorin fell asleep. Ward and I sat next to his bed, holding hands.
“Did I pass out? Is that why I was on the stretcher?” I asked Ward.
Ward laughed softly, “What?”
“I checked out. I don’t remember everything.”
“You seemed like you were there. When we got out of the ambulance, Thorin reached for you. They told you to get on the stretcher so you could hold him.”
The staff moved the three of us to a hospital room for the night. Thorin refused to sleep in the oversize crib so we squished together in the single-sized hospital bed. Ward and I turned inward toward Thorin while he slept on his back in the middle. I don’t know if I slept so much as my state of consciousness took a break from what could have been.
I was the first one awake. I opened my eyes. I was still facing Thorin and didn’t want to move. My chest and upper arms were aching from clenching my body the night before. I looked at Ward and Thorin, relieved we made it through the worst of it. Thorin opened his eyes. He turned his body toward mine. He had an impish grin on his face.
“Hi, Mommy,” he said as he put both hands on either side of my face.
He said it! I had finally proved my mettle. I also knew him well enough to know if I made mention of it he might never call me that again.
“Good morning, Sweetheart,” I said. “How are you?”
“Good, Mom,” he replied. He never again called me Ba.
After we got home, I called Dr. Not-McDreamy for a referral to a pulmonologist. His nurse called back to tell me he thought my request was completely unnecessary.
“Will he take responsibility for another emergency room visit?” I asked.
When she called back twenty-five minutes later, she said he would like to make a referral to a pediatric pulmonologist.
A week later, I sat in the reception area of the pulmonology clinic with Thorin, filling out questions on the intake forms.
•How many days of school has your child missed in the last six months?
•Does your child awake during the night coughing?
•Does your child awake during the night having difficulty breathing?
•How many trips to the emergency room in the last six months?
•How many times did you call an ambulance in the last six months?
My immediate thought was the doctor was assessing
