Day 1: Before taking Davis in to the ER I pull out some clothing I dub comfortable in hospitals for long periods of sitting. I grab a few days worth. Somehow I know even before I admit to my premonition that Davis will require more medical care than is available in our ski resort hospital. My toiletries and a pair of pajamas stack up near my comfy items.

I know.

Within 6 hours we all know. The initial xrays and scans evolve to more in-depth studies of Davis’s chest. Abscess lower right lung. Fluid outside the lung. The team searches for a bed available to life flight us to. I return home to pack the items that I had already stacked up together on my dresser. When I return Rick comments on how calm Davis and I are, how patient we seem to be with the endless hours of waiting.

This is not our first rodeo. Davis surrendered earlier than I did this morning. His ipad repeated the same few spongebob episodes as I scrolled through messages and news items on mine. 11 hours later Davis and I were on a life flight plane headed to Reno and a place to park ourselves for the night before the new team decides how to fix our boy. Rick stands by awaiting news from us on Day 2.

Day 2: There are no sleeping chairs that fold out into beds in an adult hospital. After trying to scrunch three metal bedside chairs into one long bench I give up and crawl in beside Davis with my pillow by his feet. My feet dangle to the side because his head is elevated due to his lung issue. Quick note to self, thank you for remembering to pack nuts to snack on and advil to manage the question mark pose my back responds with after sleeping in an odd position.

17 hours after coming in to this room I am ready for my first battle. The doctor who has my son listed for no food has not seen him as yet. We are given no plan. I suggest that I should take Davis down to the ER and five minutes later his pulmonologist appears. The order not to eat was a mistake. Note to all parents: be proactive. Hospitals and doctors can miscommunicate. There is a bedside procedure during which I hold Davis as the doctor makes an incision near his lung area and pokes in a very very long tube to pull the extra liquid from the area around the lung. Davis eats, then becomes very agitated perhaps because of pain. We try Tylenol. Another round of agitation and he finally falls asleep. I am told a plan that includes a new cat scan that same day which for whatever reason is not written up in the system and all plans tomorrow, including letting Davis eat, will revolve around a new morning doctor ordering up that darn cat scan. Davis has a chest X-ray. Left lung is no longer collapsed. His oxygen saturation levels climb back up.

Before bedtime Davis is back on oxygen. (To be continued)