Okay, maybe he is sick after all

Overnight, Ottawacker Jr.’s “not ill enough to not go to school” metamorphosed into a full-blown asthma attack. I still think it was allergies, but we’d obviously left it too long and so were now playing catch-up. We managed to get in to see his paediatrician at 12:30. He was a bit lethargic and coughing a lot – so it seemed as if there were quite a few things going on at once. The consensus from the doctor’s office was that it was an asthma attack, probably provoked by the seasonal change (and, indeed, allergies) and that he had stopped taking his orange inhaler too early. As it was news to me that he had stopped taking his orange maintenance inhaler at all, I kept quiet. I brought him home, ran out to the pharmacy to get the course of prednisol he had been prescribed, and came back to find out he had puked in glorious technicolour all over the kitchen floor. Seriously – the colours were amazing, and if I had had my wits about me I’d have used that as the blip. From a breakfast of plain yoghurt with blueberries, banana and tangerine slices, he’d bedecked the floor with an opaque, purple sheen.
 
Once that had been cleared up, he went up to bed for a couple of hours, while Mrs. Ottawacker and I went into the garden for an aperitif and wondered what our next move would be. In the end, we just sat around quietly, then gave the boy an early night. As he was going up, he treated us all to another of his special vomits. Poor bugger.