Kyra is doing fine. Her pediatrician says we should expect her to need to use her nebulizer every time she gets a virus, since that seems to be what sets off her asthma. Specifically when we hear that croupy cough she seems to catch Every. Year.
[Side note: did you know most children catch croup once in their life time, occasionally twice, and develop a natural immunity to it? Ya. Well. Kyra's had it the last 5 years. Because she's awesome like that. Overachiever all the way.]
We now have medicines, nebulizers, steroids and inhalers, to help prevent any future ambulance emergencies.
Lydia is also much better. Her croup has developed into an, Awww, that poor baby... kind of cough. I'll take it. Anything but the wheezy, thin, gaspy breaths she started out with.
With any luck, this will also be the first and last time she has croup.
Bishop is home but still refusing to eat anything that is not canned tuna. We're waiting on test results to come back this next week. Possible cancer, possible tick born disease. Neither one ideal. We're expecting the worst while hoping for the best. As with most things, only time will tell.
I'm thankful for this experience. Well, not so much this experience, but the friends who drove 22 hours to spend this week with us, not knowing what lie ahead. The friends who stuck by, watched my family fall apart, one by one, and stood there holding the pieces, holding us, until we could stitch ourselves back together in time for Thanksgiving dinner.
I don't know how many times I apologized for how the week turned out. Or how many times I was told it wasn't our fault and, "Maybe this is why God sent us to your house this week."
Friends. Best friends. They don't get any better than ours.