They did a chest x-ray, took his blood, and gave him steroids along with five breathing treatments. He showed no improvement. At 4am, we were transferred to CHOC and admitted into their pediatric intensive care unit. I never worried about his life and was never really afraid, but I was sad for him. The entire experience was very traumatic and the fear in his eyes was heartbreaking. (We had gone through the same thing with Iris and I could not believe this was happening again).
There are so many things I want to remember, like when he said, "Go to playground right now!" and how the nurses on the transport team gave him a teddy bear and played Frozen for him in the ambulance and how he held on to his sippy cup like it was a stuffed animal from home, never actually drinking from it, but never letting go and how at one point he threw his arms around me, and said "Love you, mama."
But what I mostly want to remember how close I felt to God. Through social media, I was able to ask for help... for prayers. We felt our friends and family praying for us. When I was alone, crying in our little room, I knew I wasn't alone. HE was with me. Our loved ones were with us.
The last day, Hendricks ripped out his IV and really wanted to go for a walk. He was tied to a few machines, making this difficult. When he finally fell asleep, his oxygen saturation level dipped more than it should. Three times, the nurse was ready, cannula in hand, to give him oxygen again. If she did, we would have to stay another night. Three times, I prayed fervently for this not to happen, the last time I prayed out loud, laying hands on my son. His levels came up just enough, and they gave us the option to go home. We chose home because there is no place like it.