The Boy is still sick, although at least today he can talk, in a squeeky six-packs-a-day kind of rasp. He crashed last night around six and slept straight through for nearly fourteen hours. Of course I didn't, because he was breathing so loudly I could hear him from down the hall and woke up every time the buzzsawing stopped for even a second. I'm wondering if I'll ever outgrow the fear that my children will just slip away from me in the night. I'm going to end up like that creepy woman in Love You Forever, crawling through my grown children's windows as they sleep. (Note: the fact that I find this woman creepy in no way prevents me from bawling like a baby every time I read this book. Heck, I don't even have to read it - just thinking about it can dissolve me into puddles. And (I think I mentioned this earlier) I'm not the least bit sentimental, so I'm not sure what it is about this book that gets to me. Maybe it's fear of the very real possibility of me becoming this creepy lady.)
In any case, I called the doctor back today, because The Boy was still gravelly this morning. It was like having a grizzly bear around the house. Only grizzly bears wouldn't climb in your lap and ask for chocolate milk. At least I don't think they would. My interaction with grizzly bears has been necessarily and thankfully limited.
His regular doctor wasn't in, but they gave us an appointment with another doctor at the same practice. I liked her a lot; she didn't roll her eyes at me for bringing him in again. I mention this because just like cars when you take them to the mechanic, my children tend to stop displaying symptoms on the way to the doctor's office. So instead of walking into the exam room with a growly grizzly, the doctor entered to what could more accurately be described as a purry kittie. But she took my concerns seriously, so they put him on a pulse-ox monitor and nebulized him to see if he would respond. He didn't, so it looks like this is straight croup with no complications. She gave him a steriod to help with the inflammation and said to keep watching his breathing.
The doctor did say that normally when a child is striding the way The Boy is they would send him to the emergency room, but since he was so alert and his oxygen levels were good we could just go home. I think she just said that to make me feel better about bringing him in. Everyone in the office probably had a good laugh at my expense after we left, but I feel much better.
So, the end result is that it looks like he is through the worst of it. Only a low fever this morning and none this afternoon, and he ate a real lunch - if Wendy's chicken nuggets can be considered real - and has been happily playing with his blocks instead of laying glassy-eyed on the couch. And I can go back to work tomorrow, assuming I still have a job to go to after being out for three days on a week when I have three major projects due.