Too much of a good thing?

We had a lovely few days at Helen House last week. Both girls on top form. A playmate for Little Fish on hand to keep her busy, and staff really getting to know Mog's communication. Great. Some school, some music therapy, some physic, a visit from friends and from our own OT. And a giant parcel from Disney to unwrap and explore, the icing on the cake.

We all had a really lovely, properly relaxing time, and I even managed to finish the jumper I was knitting just before kicking out time. Perfect.

Mog had a bit of a cold, nothing major but plenty of snuffles. Chest checked and all clear, so with no further excuses for delay we headed back to home and reality again. Has to be done occasionally.

Home for just one hour and Mog decided to celebrate by throwing a temperature and dropping her SATs. Paracetamol and suction, and problem solved. Ish. Decent morning yesterday but wobbly enough to miss school. An interesting afternoon, debated ambulance at one point but settled for GP - and of course Mog was flattered by all the attention, but absolutely find at the surgery. Antibiotics prescribed anyway, mainly to humour me, but chest still fine.

A somewhat dodgy night, SATs on the low side considering she was on CPAP. But up in the morning and snotty and achey, but otherwise ok.

Into her wheelchair and off to the Orthopaedic hospital for a wheelchair fix. Nice new footplates, an elasticated wrist strap for going through doorways without leaving knuckly flesh on the frames, and all fine.

We walk out of the wheelchair clinic and she decides to start dropping her sats again. So we go and have a cup of coffee (I drink, she sniffs) whilst she sorts herself out. 20 minutes without desatting and I'll be happy to drive her 20 minutes home.

She does not manage this. We head for the children's department and beg for someone who might listen to a chest or offer advice. We find an Anne, who escorts us through to the otherwise deserted children's ward, where we borrow some oxygen. A brings tea. We like this. She keeps us company and listens to my whitterings until a physic arrives, listens, and hmmms. Soon we are joined by a dr, who also listens and hmmms and joins in the debate.

I explain why we don't want to go to hospital, whilst realising the NOC is not the ideal environment either. Dr calls Helen House, who have friendly doctor, an empty bed and a spare nurse.

We fiddle around until Mog is as stable as she's going to get, then load up for the drive. It's five minutes. Mog manages to set her alarms off at least once in those five minutes.

Mog is deeply pleased to be back at HH and greets everyone with a big smile (and an antibiotic induced hazardous waste cloud), before submitting to being examined. The hmmms turn into a nice right sided lower lobe infection, her speciality.

I abandon her in favour of sitting in rush hour traffic for the next hour and a bit. Rush in, thank Grannie, put Little Fish in bed, pack a suitcase and rush back out again with meds and other essentials.

Back to HH where a very tired Mog is pleased to go to bed. I blame the staff from last week myself; she clearly had too much fun and worked out how to get back again! LF is most envious and split between worry over her sister and "'ow is she gettin' on?" and "Ohhhh! It's not fair, I want to go back too. Ehuh, ehuh, I am sick too now." Nice try...

Tia