Second (Third, Fourth) Verse, Same as the First

I know I blog about this every winter, multiple times, but really, can I just state again for the record how much I loathe childhood asthma?

I can say that because, as the parent of a child with asthma, I had asthma myself as a child (I like to claim I've grown out of it now) and so I know how much it sucks from both ends - for her and for me.

The Bear, like many other tiny kids with asthma, doesn't necessarily have the same kind of asthma attacks that I remember from about 10 or so onward. In her case, it manifests with coughing. And coughing. And more coughing. After a while, it's all one big cough, she can't breathe, her face turns beet red, her eyes and nose start streaming, and eventually she pukes.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

The worst part for her (obviously) is the coughing til you can't breathe and choke and puke. The worst part (for me) is having to sit here, watching her, helping her, knowing that there's really nothing I can do to help.

Things we've done tonight, in no particular order, to stave off the coughing so she can sleep:

the regular inhaler (controller, not rescue)
the nebulizer (yay albuterol)
Benadryl (to dry up the gah runny nose everywhere)
sips of water through a straw
steaming (in the bathroom, hot steam for a while, followed by a trip to the open window for cold dry air)
Vicks on the chest
a teaspoon of honey

She did puke eventually, which usually helps to clear the passages, somehow, but she's still laying over there on the couch, hacking away into her stuffed dog pillow.

And it's late and it's cold and I'm tired and I miss my husband.