The Boy Gets Sick, Part I

Part I

The Birthday Boy Travels to NYC for Thanksgiving

A few days before Thanksgiving Max and I took the train to New York City.  Linda drove us to the New London train station early that morning.  I had told Max about the train and even though he didn't really know what to expect, he seemed to be looking forward to it.  Aside from the loud horn scaring Max as the train pulled into the station he thoroughly enjoyed the experience.  My sister, Elise, and family had rented a townhouse in NYC for the Thanksgiving holiday week.  Max and I went down early to spend some extra time with them.  It was supposed to be an auspicious start to the long holiday weekend.

In addition to it being Thanksgiving that Thursday it also marked Max's second birthday.  Max had been hearing about the big day for weeks.  He knew he was going to be two, that he was going to eat cake, and that he was getting presents.  He knew, and had been practicing, the Happy Birthday to Max song.  We were all excited.

I spent Tuesday and Wednesday hanging around with family and friends.  Max got some good time in with his cousins, aunts, uncle, and grandma.  He loves playing with the older kids and I love it when the older kids play with Max.  Kids have so much more patience for the antics of a toddler.  They don't seem to mind when a boy nears the stairs or pretends to hit them.  It's a lot more fun for Max to play with kids because they don't say "no" as much.  Linda drove in late Wednesday night, arriving around 11pm.  The three of us slept together in our third floor guest room.  What fun it was for Max to go to sleep in a portable crib and then wake up in the morning in the cozy comfort between his daddy and mommy.  Having not seen Linda in a couple of days, Max was eager to wake us up.  The fact that it was still dark and not quite six in the morning didn't deter him the least bit. This was, after all, his second birthday, which though a big deal to Max, felt like a much bigger deal to me. What were we doing two years ago?

We were in a hospital, with Max's birth mom and her parents.  Two years ago we weren't even sure that we'd be adopting Max for sure.  Birthdays are a perfect marker of time.  It seems obvious, and it is, but no less significant. How often do we use a birthday to pause and reflect?  Every year, it seems.  What was I doing last year?  5 years ago?  And as we get older we can now say things like 20 years ago and remember it.  30 years ago and still remember what you were doing at that time in your life?  Where did you live?  What was your family like then?  What were your hopes?  And remember back then how you'd wonder what you would be doing when you turned 40.  And now you are.  Or will be soon.  Or were.


View Larger Map

I have no recollection of my second birthday.  None whatsoever.  It's very likely that Max won't have any recollection of his either. I am, however, quite certain that Linda and I won't soon forget it.  The day itself swept by like a whirlwind.  Linda and I took Max out of the house early so as to not wake everyone up.  We walked around the block in the cool morning air to a local diner.  A New York City diner.  It was Thanksgiving Day and so early that Cooper Town Diner on 1st Avenue wasn't very busy.  We sat ourselves in a booth and Max ordered, or rather commanded, his favorite breakfast:  "I want French toast!"  As per usual Max ate ravenously.  We often have to ration his bites so that he doesn't overstuff his mouth.  If he likes it and is hungry, he just shoves bite after bite in his mouth and his chewing rate can't keep up.  This trait can only be amusing as exhibited by a toddler such as Max.  This is not an attractive habit in adults.

After breakfast, a group of us took a taxi to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.  The weather was perfect.  It was dry, a bit overcast, with little wind.  The temperature was mild for late November and hats were unnecessary.  We'd tried to get Max excited about the balloons and band and he was, but it wasn't like the parade knocked his socks off.  He said hello to the balloons (sometimes repeatedly) and liked seeing the horses and the marching bands.  He was sitting on my shoulders and soon I could feel his head was resting on mine.  The boy was tired. After around forty five minutes at the parade, Linda, Max, and I headed back to the townhouse.  With both his birthday party and a raucous Thanksgiving festivity still yet to come, we hoped he'd get a good nap in to rest up for the action.  And Max did.

As he slept, my family and I all attended to various tasks.  There were birthday presents still to wrap, cakes to be frosted, balloons to be blown up, and last minute Thanksgiving shopping, too.  And while we all did this, Max slept unaware.  When he awoke that afternoon, Linda and I both went upstairs to fetch him.

He was still quite groggy as we descended to the living room where all our family and friends waited.  "Happy Birthday, Max!" we all cheered.  We spent the next hours as one does at these affairs.  We brought out a cake, sang, blew out candles, ate, and opened presents.  We all sat on the floor encircling Max as he opened his gifts.  He even used a new toy screwdriver to help him tear the wrapping paper. From that party we rolled right into Thanksgiving.  More people arrived and as some worked in the kitchen and others cavorted in the living room, Max happily ran around, hit balloons in the air, played with toys, ate food, and had the kind of rip roaring good time that only a two year-old can.  Aside from a niggling cough there was nothing to foretell what was on the horizon.  By the time we put him to sleep for the night around 7:30, he immediately sacked out.  Linda and I couldn't help but remark to each other what a great day it had been, for Max, and for us as his parents.  We couldn't have imagined what a difference 24 hours would make.

The next few hours were spent sprawled out on couches and chairs in a post Thanksgiving meal haze.  I don't want to give our enemies any ideas, but America must truly be at its weakest about 8:30pm Thanksgiving night:  300 million Americans in a tryptophan, alcohol, pie and ice cream induced coma.

But interrupting our hazy food fog plaintive sounds from Max were heard through the monitor.  It wasn't even 10pm and he'd woken up.  This would be unusual at home, but with all the activity and the little cough that he developed during the day, it seemed understandable.  Linda went upstairs to soothe him and it worked for a bit but a short time later he was awake again.  Since we were basically just laying on the floor anyway, Linda and I opted to go upstairs to sleep in a bed.  It had been a full day and with Max's inner alarm clock set to 5:30am, we knew we would all be well served by an early bedtime.  We all slept hard.

When I woke up just before 6am the next day, I didn't have any reason to know that there was a hospital emergency room just a few blocks from where we were staying.  I'd never heard of Albuterol and I certainly didn't know when I awoke that morning, the next time I would go back to sleep would be nearly 40 hours later and some 165 miles away.

To Be Continued