It’s when the nurse in the triage room says, “I’ll just finish filling this form in later,” that my blood turns to ice. I always thought that expression was a cliche, but in that moment it became true, and I entered a full-body state of panic. The baby, on the other hand, is pale and smiling, almost serene despite having been yanked from sleep and rushed up the road. But his readings, clearly, are not good.
Other parents tell me that these trips to A&E are a rite of passage. We have been to A&E four times since the baby was born. This is our second trip today. This morning, he was on the borderline for admission, so I know what he has – bronchiolitis – and that he’ll need oxygen. What I don’t know is how bad it may get. No one knows that. Some babies recover quickly, I’m told, and some can become seriously unwell. The medical staff are calm and reassuring, but they are setting up the equipment, taking the infant-sized oxygen mask out of its packaging, and attaching the monitor to the baby’s toe, with ominous speed.
