My boy's asthma symptoms have laid dormant for the better part of six years. Until now. Ironically, with the onset of paranoia surrounding The Disease Formerly Known as Swine Flu and the evidence that those with respiratory problems are hardest hit by its devastating effects, Mason has started wheezing again. Last week, our pediatrician told us it was time to dust off the ol' nebulizer and open up this kid's airways. Wonderful.
As a toddler, Mason hated his breathing treatments. It didn't matter that the mask was shaped like a fish or that his mom would hold and soothe him for the duration of time it took to inhale all his steroids, he screamed like a banshee.
Who knew that this tendency for nebulizer-induced drama would not be outgrown by age nine?
Frankly, I could go for some doctor-recommended breaks where I had to sit down and breathe deeply, but Mason doesn't care for his twice-a-day regiment.
I have discovered two ways to ease his grumbling about his time on the couch. First, I tease him about his smoking habit. The mouthpiece kind of looks like a pipe and when he exhales, all the vapor comes billowing out. I playfully scold him that we don't believe in smoking and that it is not good for his body. Usually, this wins me a smirk or smile.
The other weapon in my arsenal is one Master Harry Potter. We've been plugging away through Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for a while and having to sit down a couple of times a day has given us the chance to make a little more progress each day. Mason insists that the treatment time is shorter when we read Harry Potter. I know the amount of time is the same, but if it makes things more enjoyable for my poor wheezing boy, I'm all for it!
I just hope we can get his breathing under control before that sneaky H1N1 worms its way into our home.
