sick, again.

The pattern this school year has been 3 weeks illness free, then bam, Adam gets something. I mean it's inevitable.

So, Adam was sick last week. He went to school on Monday and we got a call that at school he was coughing and they were going to give him his inhaler. By Monday evening, he was coughing almost constantly, with a fever, and a slight rash.

 I, of course, panic-I look up his symptoms on webmd and pretty much am convinced he has scarlet fever. Phil, thank goodness, is the calmer half of this team and we call the pediatrician, give him some meds and wait.

In the morning, the pediatrician sees him right away, takes a strep test, checks him out and concludes it's viral. We are now to increase his inhaler, but he gets worse as the day and night goes on.

We call his pediatric pulmonologist, who sees him right away. Adam is having bronchial spasms and needs more inhalers, allergy meds, and prednisolone. When we go to his pulmonologist's office, the doctor heard Adam outside in the waiting room and called to him.  Adam ran to him, gave him hugs. The doctor laughed and held Adam and they instantly were both laughing and smiling. This is an amazing doctor, who has been seeing Adam since he was in the NICU. It's great to have a doctor who Adam loves, advocates for him and who remembers all that we've been through and has been along for this crazy ride.

We keep him home for the next two days and a very low profile weekend.

Today, we got an emergency call from school-again. Adam has a rash and must be picked up immediately. We call the pediatrician, and swing by his office after picking up Adam from school. He's got contact dermatitis. Some benedryl and aveeno are needed.

At the pediatrician's office, the doctor feeds our ego, telling us how great Adam is, how wonderful we are as parents and how far Adam has come- saying that it is because of us, that Adam is doing so well.

I love doctors who make us feel better, respond lovingly to Adam, call us back and squeeze us in.

Swim lessons

Sorry no updates in Feb, but to be quite honest, Adam is the same eating wise. His routine is the same. No changes and we missed our Feb appointment at Chop due to crazy crazy snow we've had.

But..... we took him to swim class.

This was super exciting. Every night for the past two weeks, we've been "selling" swim lessons. We are all like, "yeah, swim class is the best! Adam, you are going to go to swim class soon, yeah!" and all kinds of cheering for swimming.

Yesterday was the day and of, course he didn't want to go. He cried and carried on. We drove him. He cried and carried on in the car. We got to the Y. He cried and carried on.

There were 4 kids in his class and 2 teachers. One boy was crying the entire time- the entire half hour. That boy was thankfully not Adam. Adam cried and whined in the beginning. I made him walk to the pool and put his feet in. The teacher talked to him and told him to get in. Adam refused. I went over and told him that he had to listen to the teacher. He had to get in.

Adam turned to me and yelled, "NO. NO I NOT GO IN POOL. I AM THE BOSS APPLESAUCE".

Ok, it took so much not not crack up laughing. I said to him that he was not the boss. And made him get in. This was so worth it. He started to relax and laugh with the teacher and have a blast. I took a picture of him and the guy in charge was like, "Um, Ma'am, you can't take pictures. We have a no picture policy."

I responded with a smile, " I totally understand, but I am only taking a picture of just him and I will not post it on the internet. But this is his first time swimming. He's only 3 and he was born 14 weeks early, weighed just over a pound, has had 7 surgeries, spent 8 months of his life in a hospital, had a tracheotomy and couldn't make any sounds out of his mouth for his first two years. I know you understand, that this is a miracle and I'm taking a picture."

He goes, "oh, uh...of course."

Anyway. I am a woman of my word and will not post this picture, but Phil and I were beaming and teary-eyed and so proud of our little man.