advent #1

Last night at work, one of my favorite patients came in. He is the smilingest baby, full of cheeky laughter and a cloud of dark curly hair that hovers over his head. I like his mother, too -- a plump, jolly woman who manages to be both kind and clever, even after spending her days corralling middle school students. She brought this baby home 2 days after he was born, 2 days after an unknown girl signed the papers and the court pronounced her mom. There's never been a Dad.

We'll call this woman Cathy and we'll call this baby Joe. Cathy left work and brought a tightly bundled Joe to the doctor's office because his weeks-old coughing had turned into wheezing my untrained ear could hear across the room. Adventitious breath sounds. I listened and made a sympathetic face. The doctor listened and ordered a nebulizer treatment. We set Cathy & Joe up on the machine, noted the time, and moved on to other tasks and patients. Joe screamed before the door closed. He screamed and writhed and screamed through the first treatment and then the second. Cathy tried to smile every time I peaked in the room, but it wasn't hard to tell that she was shaking from trying so hard to hold on. Please, can you help? she shouted over his screaming.

Help? Right. Ha. I mean, Sure!
I re-adjusted the mask, I patted his head and sang.
He screamed louder and held his breath.
Cathy looked desperate and Joe looked blue.
I picked up Dr. Seuss.
One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish.
Joe took a gulping breath and shuddered quiet.
He took another breath. The tiny particles of medicine rushed into the black hole of his mouth.
Black Fish Blue Fish Old Fish New Fish.
He opened his eyes and looked up at his mom and then me.
Some are Red, Some are Blue, Some are Old, Some are New.
Joe Smiled! Cathy Smiled.
Some are Sad and Some are Glad and Some are very, very Bad.
I smiled, holding my breath.
Why are they Sad and Bad and Glad?
Yes! I thought, I can do this!
I don't know, Go ask your Dad!
And suddenly Cathy was crying louder than Joe.

In the end, Cathy and Joe went to the ER. The doctor couldn't help Joe and I couldn't help Cathy. They set off through the rain to get a "tune up" - a few more quick treatments in the hope that his lugs would right themselves so he could sleep, could breathe, in his own bed. As they left, I took my own deep breath, picked up the chart of the next patient and walked into exam room three with a smile. Hi. What can I do for you today?

In a few weeks we will celebrate. Our Help is about to be born.