"In my experience, parents of children with respiratory problems, get that here we go again moment...and that's when you feel your heart sinking. Am I right?"
No one had ever described it like that before. She was so right, I wanted to cry.
Having a child who suffers from ongoing bouts of viral induced wheezing or bronchiolitis messes with the simple notion of hope. Hope that the warmer weather makes for less viruses, hope that the daily medication will do its job, hope that I can stop worrying every time he coughs, hope that he will grow out of it.
Because hope is all we have. Only last week the Brompton Hospital gave us permission to reduce Bobble's antibiotics and steroid inhaler for the summer. I was elated and full of expectation for easier days ahead.
But alas, at 1am this morning, Bobble woke me up and asked for his inhalers. 'I need puffs mummy, I coughing a little bit...no swimming today'. My heart sank and there was a lump in my throat. For the first time ever, the little guy asked for his meds.
I set my alarm for 5am so I could count his breaths before giving him more puffs in his sleep. By 7am he is awake and dancing around the house being his usual chirpy self and I am back to feeling hopeful again.
I've already got the hospital bag packed from the last visit we had to Kingston A&E about 6 weeks ago. The looming possibility of a hospital admission is the killer...whether it happens or not, I go into crisis management mode by calling work, clearing my diary and organising an emergency cat feeder.
You get angry and frustrated that it's happening again and feel weirdly embarrassed that you're giving people the same old story because surely he should be getting better now.
Bobble hasn't got much better but we have got 100 times better at dealing with it. That heart sinking moment is a trigger to slow down, be in the moment and absorb yourselves into the NHS care system until a full recovery is made, nothing else matters.
As a family, we have got to know the wonderful staff at Kingston's Sunshine Ward all too well. When Bobble was first admitted at 6 weeks old we naively bought a hugely expensive box of chocolates as a thank you gift to the nursing team as we never guessed we'd be back again. Now, after over 20 hospital admissions in 28 months we've moved onto boxes of Roses as it was all getting a bit much, physically and metaphorically.
Bobble bounces back with extraordinary ease, he's already a pro at hospital stays which are thankfully getting less frequent as the doctors feel more confident we can treat him at home. I wish I was as robust as him, every episode leaves another little dent that can take many different forms - exhaustion, resentment, anxiousness, resignation.
Bobble's ongoing condition is the reason I decided to take a step back from my demanding film career as managing this bronch baby roller coaster with my globe trotting cameraman husband was beyond stressful when we both worked full time. It was the day I asked my assistant to book my airport transfer to pick me up from Kingston A&E so that I could still make it to an event in Oslo that night, that I knew everything was out of whack.
The stark reality was that I had to choose between letting my colleagues down or letting my family down and I chose the latter. That was probably the biggest heart sinking moment of all, one that I hope never to repeat again.
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