Sweet Dreams

Any Mom of a medically fragile kid understands the simple joy of looking over at the sat monitor and seeing this:

Parker’s oxygen sats are 99%, while his heart rate is a very sweet 58. He’s on his vent and to make things even better, his oxygen concentrator isn’t turned up sky high.

(The wave is kinda funky because Parker rolled over just as I took the shot.   His sats were even better before he rolled over.)

I can’t count how many nights I’ve spent patrolling the pulse-ox machine while Parker’s oxygen sats were tanking and his heart rate going through the roof.

In the hospital they tell you not to obsess over the pulse ox numbers.

This, of course, just makes every Mom that much more crazily glued to even the teeniest change in their child’s rhythm. I can’t even count how many times I’ve told myself that I would go to bed just as soon as Parker’s sats met some totally unrealistic goal I was desperately hoping for.

Which means that I’ve put in a whole lotta all nighters over the last few years.

But all those all nighters become ancient history each time I look over and see this:

Sweet dreams little one.  Sweet dreams.