More Detective Work leads to Vocal Chord Dysfunction!

I bet you have never heard of Vocal Chord Dysfunction?

Nope. I hadn't either.., until I  went looking for advice on a message board about Tess's 3-month cough. Turns out VCD is under diagnosed. It can co-exist with asthma, and mimic asthma; it's like an asthma of the throat, as opposed to the lungs.

Basically the vocal chords spasm close when they shouldn't. Eeek. All paradoxical and not-good. It can be triggered by exercise or cold air or even just talking. The poor patient is reduced to coughing and coughing and coughing to try and get air in. Sounds familiar? Sounds exactly like the last 3 months of parenting my poor girl. 

I learnt a new word: Stridor. It means taking a big in-breath and I've noticed Tess does this frequently, throwing her head back to get enough air. And that, in turn, perpetuates the coughing.

The management or treatment of Vocal Chord Dysfunction uses Speech and Language therapy and specialist breathing exercises. 
Covid Crisis has naturally put everything on hold. Our lovely GP has kindly offered to refer us to an ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat doctor), but warned it may take months.

In the meantime, I'm looking into the possibility of Speech Therapy by Zoom or FaceTime, in this, the new socially-distant reality. 

Who's at the Door?

How are we all? 

Ding Dong. The kids have started raiding the dressing up box, then ringing the doorbell. 

They pretend to be salesmen, preachers or time-travellers. It passes a few minutes in the madness. 

Tess's health seems to be in a holding pattern. It's slightly better by day, but her barking cough is triggered by even mild exercise and she still coughs loads before bed. 

Even if schools were open, she'd struggle to attend. I've emailed the consultant. We'll See, as my mother used to say about everything in life. We'll see. It's what mother's say.  

Once a day, we go a local family walk. A Spaziergang, as the Germans say. I LOVE the lack of cars. The air is so much clearer and cleaner. 

Irony alert. Our local area feels like a true village now - families on bikes, dog walkers, joggers, everywhere you look, yet all of us 2 meters apart, waving to each other. You could be forgiven for thinking you'd stumbled into some kind of 1970's idyl from a LadyBird book.

And meanwhile, the COVID19 horror rolls on. I was moved by this blog, detailing one man's pre-lockdown fears of catching the virus, when, oblivious, he was spreading it. It could have been any of us.

And the testing is still too slow. An insider insight here. Why can't they get it sorted? If countries can mass-produce Coca-Cola and plastic forks, why can't we manage the critical key to fighting this virus?

If all else fails, our kids just fall back on a home-made catch phrase. They love to shout, Barooooo! and then fall about laughing.

And here's a pyjama photo from 10 years ago, when life was more simple.

Ah, cuddly podgers!

I hope you all get through the day okay. 

U-turn in A&E

Mumsnet have a famous thread called AIBU - Am I being unreasonable?

Yesterday, I asked myself - am I being too cautious? Did we just go to hospital...for nothing? 

Grab a chair and I'll tell you.

We are now in the process of tapering Tess' course of steroids, as prescribed. That means her body has to do without anti-inflammatory support. Steroids should only be used short term, if at all possible. 

For 2 nights she got wheezy and a bit breathless before bed. I phoned the GP and, like me, she didn't feel 100% confident that we had 'the full story,' and she supported my desire to have Tess's chest checked again.

The GP wondered if an X-ray might be useful, so we were advised to go to kids' A&E. In a pandemic, in case you hadn't noticed.  

Well, Glasgow NHS, I was impressed at your infection control measures. 

A male nurse in PPE (or at least the UK version of PPE) sat outside the sliding A&E doors with a walkie talkie. He intercepted us and made sure we weren't just walking in from the street with....you know what. 

Inside, we sat alone in the waiting room before being checked by another nurse in full PPE (and elaborate tattoos - fair do's). 

We were offered surgical masks, 'to protect you and us' and we gladly tied them on. Tess' hairstyle looked inappropriately cute with the bows tied. 

Inside, the triage section, we sat behind a thin curtain, waiting our turn. I could hear the talk in other bed-bays. A wee girl had fallen and chipped her wrist bone (not, covid, phew!). A toddler boy was crying with some indeterminate malaise (no temperature - phew!)

Meanwhile, Tess continued to cough like a TB patient from a Victorian work house and I wondered what the other patients thought of us.

After what seemed like ages, but was actually 45 minutes, a young female doctor in scrubs and PPE examined Tess and asked various questions. She stood well back, and looked like she was practising keeping her distance, if not for us, then certainly for future cases.

She said an X-ray would only be suitable in cases of suspected pneumonia, and Tess didn't have that.  Not that I thought she did. I guess I just wanted to make sure we weren't missing anything, and yes it is so hard when your child seems stuck in a pattern of chronic illness. 

So we drove home and put all our clothes in the washing machine and I let my expectations settle a bit and I resolved to try to 'let more time pass'. 

Tess was asleep after 10pm and I felt my shoulders drop, just in time to switch on the horror show that is the nightly news. I don't linger there, I just need to know the headlines.

Then I watched my brother's out-there documentary about Scotland's history of swearing. If the word 'jobby' offends you, you'd best keep away. Otherwise, knock yourself out. 

Everybody Hurts, Sometimes.

Imagine if your child was coughing about 200 times a day. Not wee, pesky coughs, but big wracking barks, reaching for air, like a crocodile snapping at flies. Imagine if it had been going on (albeit varying) for 75 days, and you were in lockdown.

Oh, that's us. Well, friends, things got worse before they....got here.

Two night ago, I thought Tess was having an asthma attack. Dire. I gave her the emergency treatment of Predisolone (steroid tablets). It was horrible and scary. I could feel my kneecaps physically shaking, as if they were fried eggs, sliding up and down. 

 I chased medical help. GP was very keen to contact our NHS hospital consultant directly by phone, as opposed to Tess going to hospital and 'risking exposure.' 

When the consultant finally called (every minute seemed an hour, as I waited), he took details and patiently came to the theory that she has a 'post infectious cough.' 

Wise, he said, that GP tested for Whooping Cough earlier - it wasn't that, but there may be 'many bugs' that can do similar things. Cousins of whooping cough! Come on in, guys, it's a party.

Now for the kicker: there is no treatment. Yes, we can try the brutal oral steroids (many side effects) and he even suggested 2 weeks of them - just to prove to himself, that they won't help, and then he will know it is the Post Infectious cough as opposed to an asthma flare. Like drowning witches. Damned if you drown, a witch if you swim. 

(By the way, we've already tried anti-biotics to no effect, and every bit of over-the-counter 'throat-soothing' snake oil I could find).

HOW LONG WILL IT LAST? I asked, (in capitals in my head). Politely, in real life.

He wouldn't be pushed on time frame. Not a jot. Wise man. He mentioned other kids who had it - I distinctly heard him say, 'for years'. 

I tried to block that bit out. He tried to encourage me that it will eventually resolve with time. Please, please, please. 

So here we are, in a pandemic, taking steroid drugs that lower immunity, just to prove they won't help, coughing 200 times a day, having fun. Tick!

Don't get me wrong. The NHS dedication is amazing and always gives me a lump in my throat, or makes me cry.

Obviously, I will watch Tess and monitor her closely.

If there's any one out there, whose asthma kid has finally got over a serious, crippling cough lasting months, feel free to send positive stories. 

And I know, I know, there are so many scary stories out there just now, re Covid19 and the global 'war' we are all fighting. Many people are in much worse situations. My heart goes out....

I'll be back on Twitter later, retweeting the true experts and the WHO advice, as opposed to the Herd immunity barbarism that Britain started with. Keep on keeping on, my friends.