Ya know how whenever shit hits the fan, it really hits the fan? Like, one thing can't go wrong without taking everything else with it.
My last stride was when my son woke up at 5am and wasn't breathihng. That warranted us a trip to the ER, where it took four hours to stop the massive asthma attack he was suffering.
The only good thing about the whole event was that my son was here with me, a chronic asthmatic, and not at his dad's house where his cough could have been mistaken.
I wish I could lay down and sleep for the next century, but I can't get my sick kid to stop chasing the dog about the house. For christ sake, what do parents have to do to get their kids to understand their limits?
Couldn't the doctor give me some sedatives or something? I mean for me, not the kid...