Damn, damn, it's happened again.

Nothing more frightening than being ripped from a sound, serene sleep by the sound of a child gasping for air; yet that is exactly what has happened.

My wife is on the phone now with the hospital, letting them know that I am bringing Dylan in because he is having yet another asthma attack.  From the sounds of it, it sounds like a really bad one; Dylan is really struggling to breathe!

I grab Dylan from his crib; at the age of 12, he is tall for his age and stocky; yet he's more like an overgrown infant: unable to feed, suck, eat on his own (tube fed), and not toilet-trained; he wears adult sized diapers.

Dylan was born with severe brain damage and Down syndrome.  Bad enough he is mentally disabled; does he have to be physically disabled on top of it??

I would call for the ambulance, but Dylan is struggling too hard; the hospital is over 10 minutes away.  Time is of the essence; I must find a hospital that is closer and a hospital that is willing to take in a child like Dylan.

Darlene has just informed me that Nashville Children's is less than five minutes away.  Cool.  Now that I will get directions, I should be there in no time.  I wrap a blanket around Dylan, tell him what a good boy he is being and that I am taking him to see the doctor's, and hastily kiss Darlene as I pass on the way out the front door.  Dylan doesn't move: all he does is continue to struggle for air.

As I near the hospital, I suddenly think of Dylan's oxygen unit (the portable one).  Cursing, I chide myself for not bringing it.  Too late now; it's time to get him help as soon as possible. 

I squeal into the ER parking lot, right in front of the door, grab my son, and rush into the ER.  A nurse hears and sees my son struggling to breathe; she immediately motions me to go back to a table.  As the nursing staff takes over, I look at the nurse gratefully as she hands me a pen and a form to fill out.  We've been through this routine before; this is nothing new.  That is how it is with asthma.

I then go to a chair in the waiting room and wait.  No telling how long it will be; I just hope and pray that they can eradicate Dylan's asthma attack and give him some blessed relief.

I look at the clock.  It is nearly 12:30 in the morning.  Guess I won't be working today (I am supposed to go in at 9 and work to 5:30).  I leave a message for my boss and tell him what is going on with Dylan and that I am in the ER with him.

~To be continued.~