While working in Chicago this week, I got a phone call on Thursday from wifey saying that Kate had been up all night coughing. She was taking her to the doctor.
On Friday, back at the doctor, I got the dreaded, "we're on our way to the hospital (via ambulance)" call.
This was around noon. My flight was leaving at 8:15. The 1:50 was booked.
My colleague, who was at home and had just had a baby a couple of weeks ago, looked up some other flights and found one at 5:50 and booked it for me.
While on the plane, Kate was tranferred to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU) due to her breathing difficulties.
I arrived at the hospital about 10. No smile from Kate, but she had been calling for me all day (she signs daddy all the time).
I left and all was relatively well. Kate was difficult, who wants that stupid mask on their face?
Today, LC and I (along with many other family members) arrived around 5. Still no smile, but things were stable.
Everyone but me left the room and Kate fell asleep, so did I.
Kris and Granny Kathy (Kate's namesake) came in and Kris immediately noticed a difference in Kate's breathing. The nurse came in, then called the doctor. He arrived and that frightening sight of the entire staff standing outside Kate's room presented...reminded me of 3 years ago immediately.
Doc decided that despite the difficulty she was having, it wasn't necessary to intubate her.
Fast forward another 2 hours, I'm at my parents house with LC, and I get that call...they decided to intubate her.
Ultimately a good decision, we think, but never fun. It's painful and invasive, but probably the best for Kate right now.