Tickling your tummy

My little Max woke up from his nap yesterday and desperately wanted to go use his new blue bat and blue soft ball. His oldest sister had a softball game at a park with a fun playground. Even after his rest, he was still breathing heavy and fast. Once I let myself count his respiratory rate, I found myself doing it almost constantly. 32, 36, 40.... All well above normal and he didn't have a fever to blame it on anymore. 

Max had barely eaten anything all day and I was making no progress with the usual foods he liked at home. The sun had come out and the girls wanted to go play before the game. I decided we would stop at Mc Donald's to get Max a milkshake on the way. I would try to keep him in the car, watching movies and drinking his milkshake instead of running around. I could watch the girls from the car. I didn't want to keep them hostage just because their brother was sick.

Max drank most of his chocolate milkshake by the time we arrived at the softball field and as soon as I opened the car doors, he charged outside after his sisters with ball and bat in hand. He happily whacked the ball around with his bat, hockey-style, on the basketball court adjacent to the softball field.

After a while, I was able to entice him back to the car for a little Nemo break. As he clambered into his seat and I started the movie, I heard him breathe heavily as each second passed on the DVD display. That's a respiratory rate of 60! Should I take him to the ER? I should call his pediatrician first....


But he had just been running around so I tried to listen to my own advice: Do something else. Focusing on my daughter's softball game, I blocked out Max's breathing and tried to direct my brain towards what was happening outside the car. After the inning was over, I let myself count his breathing again: 40. And then he asked me for a snack and I noticed he had consumed his entire milkshake. He didn't have a fever and seemed to be feeling a little better.


Antibiotics and steroids don't treat heart failure. Perhaps this was pneumonia and not just wheezing with an ear infection, but regardless it seemed less like heart failure as the day worn on. I still had him sleep with me last night, dozing only for a few minutes here and there for the second night in a row. Today, when I felt his breathing, it was closer to my respiratory rate than my heart rate even after running around. This afternoon when I took off his rocket ship socks, I ran my fingers over his shins to check for swelling. None. 

He was laying down so I palpated his belly just to make sure his liver wasn't enlarged.

"What you doing mommy?" he asked as I felt his belly.

"Tickling your tummy, sweetie," I replied.

"No, mommy. You check me," he said as he peered at me over his glasses and helped me by lifting his shirt.

"I check your tummy!" I said, engaging in the same silly bedside manner I use with my patients. I smiled, infused with joy upon discovering the absence of a protruding liver edge.

"I fine, mommy," he said, brusquely, as he put down his shirt.

Yes, Max, you are fine, I thought as he charged away from me, squealing with delight and playing with his sisters.