As I type this I am currently sat in children’s a&e with a poorly H. 12pm and waiting for a doctor seems like a never ending outcome. As he struggles for breath I realise this, right here has to be the hardest part of being a parent. I’m looking around and I see the fear in every parents face and I know that I am not the only one who is feeling scared.
H had quite a severe attack in the summer and it resulted in a mad dash to hospital in an ambulance. The diagnosis was an allergic reaction. All weekend he has said to me he hasn’t felt good, he had a headache and was feeling under the weather. I gave him medicine and let it be.
Fast forward to 11pm and I can hear a little boy fighting for breath. The sound every parent dreds. A sharp cry and rattly rasps were not of the ordinary. We decided to have him in our bed and I lay there for over 20 minutes listening to him hoping it would get better. I knew better and I knew I should of done it straight away. I called for help, those dreaded three numbers.
We were being seen to quickly and the diagnosis was a trip to the hospital again. I decided to drive this time as getting home was pretty horrendous last time. I arrived and my heart sank at the amount of young children that took up the children’s a&e. It was going to be a long wait. It was a long wait.
5 hours of waiting and a diagnosis of Croup. We arrive back home at 4:30 and with very little sleep, mummy duties continue. School runs and back home looking after a very tired, sick little boy.
These parts of parenting are hard, helpless and the moments I find the toughest. It puts your parenting skills to the test and when you come out the other side you realise just how difficult being a parent is.
But would I change it? Never…