Sunday morning. Noah's auntie Dawn, uncle Tom and cousin Charlotte were up from Brighton. 6.30am, we were woken by a strange cry coming from Noah's bedroom. He seemed a little distressed. By the time I threw a dressing gown on, auntie Dawn was in his room holding him. By the time I got to him, he was very red, somewhat shaky and struggling to breathe. He was able to cry outwardly but when it came to breathing in, the breaths were shallow. Usually, if Noah takes a fall, or hurts his fingers on something and he starts to cry, we can just do a funny dance, take him outside or point him towards a mirror and the distraction works for him. Holding him in front of the mirror did nothing. He continued to cry and struggle for breath. I passed him to Cheryl and called 999.
Two minutes later (literally) the paramedic on her last call for the night turned up. Fortunately, by this time, Noah wasn't quite so manic but his breathing still seemed laboured although his crying had abated. She did her tests and requested the ambulance to come out. Cheryl and I climbed on board with Noah and we spent the the next 4 hours in hospital. By the time we got there, Noah seemed much more himself and spent the time wooing all the nurses. After a few more tests and a brief inspection by the 12 year old doctor, we were informed that it was croup. This is one of the reasons it has been a long old month...
Croup is this: inflammation of the larynx and trachea in children, associated with infection and causing breathing difficulties.
This is one of the reasons it has been a long old month. There's nothing like the adrenalin shot that comes from thinking your baby isn't breathing.
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