Last night you had your second major asthma attack, and we had to drive you to emergency at 1.30 in the morning. You were so excited to go to the hospital, and were in high spirits all the way into the examination room, after which you – understandably – clammed up and clamped onto me like a baby koala. They gave you two doses of adrenaline with a nebuliser, which made you scream like a banshee, and after your lungs didn’t respond to that, they packed us off to Drammen to the paediatric centre. There they gave you two doses of ventoline with a nebuliser (which you hated, but were happily enough distracted by watching funny cat videos on YouTube) and did a few tests, one of which required you to wear anaesthetic patches on your inner elbows in preparation for drawing blood an hour later. Despite us all being extremely tired, and you being freaked out by the patches on your arms, you were cheery and so well-behaved we were amazed at your patience. Each time a doctor or nurse would come in to do a test or check you over, or talk to us, you’d ask if you could go home now, and we had to keep telling you, “Not yet. We hope we can go home soon, but not yet.” You weren’t happy to hear it, but accepted the news with only a few little pouts and pleas.
When two nurses came to take your blood, you fought and screamed like a little wild cat. You’re a lot stronger than we ever knew! But when you realised you couldn’t fight off four adults, you just sat on my lap and screamed. My heart tore at every cry, but we had to let them take your blood so they could see if you had any infections. I hated having to hold you in place like that, but I had to. They told you it wouldn’t take long, but you were terrified and began to make low, guttural roaring sounds that had your dad and me looking at each other in real fear. I thought you were so terrified that you had regressed in some way—that you had reverted to a sort of feral state. Seconds later, it was all over and they rushed your blood away for testing.
After the nurses left, you told us what had happened:
“Mummy, I was a robot dinosaur. I was so scared, but I roared and roared and scared the mean doctors away!”
Daddy and I both had to hide our tears of pain and pride from you so you wouldn’t get more upset. You’re amazing. Even under all that fear and panic, you found a way to save yourself from your bad situation, and showed us the very definition of bravery. I will never forget this night.
This morning Sushi caught her first bird; at least, she caught the first one we know about. She brought the little kjøttmeis into the living room while you were having breakfast and I was in the kitchen making your lunch. There was a lot of tweeting, crashing around, and growling. I came in and managed to get Sushi away from the bird—which was dazed and frightened—and throw a tea towel over it so I could carry it outside. You were very upset for the bird, and I could tell you were shocked to see this vicious side of Sushi.