Dear Daniel

Dear Daniel,

For four weeks, you have had a cough.  It didn't seem to bother you that much.  In fact, you have been more active than ever!  You have been screaming and throwing terrible tantrums, but you have been the happiest boy.  It became somewhat bothersome at times when you would play and get really worked up, but you hadn't had any other symptoms...  no fever or runny nose.  Nothing out of the ordinary until I noticed some white bumps on the inside of your mouth.  That is when I decided to call your pediatrician.

You waited so patiently in the pediatrician's office this afternoon.  You played for two whole hours with the sink and trashcan in the room.  You were restless when the doctor would come and go, and he came and went quite a bit today.  When he first came in, he just looked in your ears and listened to you breathe.  He made a face when he placed his stethoscope on your back and heard what must have been wheezing.  He left only to come back with a sweet nurse who held a large instrument in her hand.  She put it into both of your ears until it beeped; you sat so very still while all of this was taking place.  We waited for the results. 

What seemed like hours passed until the doctor returned with your results.  There was so much fluid behind both of your ears that you failed the pressure test they had given you.  The doctor claimed that this explained your moods and fits as of late but didn't have anything to do with your persistant cough.  He began listening to your chest again.  You laughed when he tickled your belly with his stethoscope, and you really liked looking at his red bow tie.  However, the news we received about you didn't make us laugh.  To be honest, it was overwhelming and frightening. 

I left with three prescriptions and one tired little boy.  You said, "Shoe!" when I got you into the van, indicating you wanted me to take off your tennis shoes.  I worried the whole way home.  I remember watching my Dad have coughing fits and always wondered if he was going to stop breathing.  He'd pull out his inhaler, and all would be normal again.  I couldn't help but feel scared of losing him but was always thankful for that blue tool that made him well.

Yours is red.  It fits into a barreled chamber that has a small face mask on it.  I am to put the inhaler into the top of the chamber and put the end with the mask over your face.  You will get two pumps four times a day.  This, my son, explains your cough and what will hopefully make it easier for you to bear. 

I'm fearful of what this may mean for your future, I must admit, but I was reminded tonight as I rocked you to sleep that I will carry you for the rest of my life.  I'll carry your burdens and hurt when you do.  I'll cry when you're upset and laugh when you make me.  I'll protect you when I can and take care of you always.  Sweet Daniel, there will be times when I can't, though; I'm just not big enough or capable of doing so.  Just like I mentioned tonight as I prayed over you, only God can carry us both, and God knows what your future holds.

I'm so thankful for you, Daniel.  You've made me a stronger person, and you've taught me what it means to parent.  You've shown me how to laugh and how to love whole-heartedly.  You've made my worst days more incredible than I could have ever imagined, and you've brought more joy to my life than I can put into words.  I love who you are and the amazing personality you possess.  You take everything in stride.  You stand right back up when you fall.  You laugh when you don't get your way.  You take the first breaths from your inhaler with pride, and you never flinch.  You just smile... You were so proud of yourself, and baby boy, I was too.  There has never been a time when I've been more honored to be your mom.  I thank God that He's given me you. 

With ALL of my heart,
Mommy