It’s sadly common for many young children and worried parents to face choking symptoms from a simple bronchitis. We recently went through this ourselves. I wouldn’t wish the feeling of having to call an ambulance for a child struggling to breathe more and more on any parent. The silver lining? This common childhood illness is very manageable with the right medication and oxygen support if needed—and most kids outgrow it.
The second time, recognizing the signs early meant we avoided a hospital visit. Working closely with our family doctor, I started medication—a spray inhalation suspension—and carefully monitored my daughter’s condition at home until she recovered.
At first, I had to bring the inhaler to her mouth every two hours. That meant waking up every two hours at night—or rather, staying awake to listen to her breathing instead of falling asleep. Those nights weren’t easy. Yet, I still felt lucky.
I felt lucky because when my little girl visibly struggled to breathe—probably every parent’s nightmare, and hard to imagine anything worse—there was a doctor I could call and medicine I could reach for.
Plus, the inhaler works like magic. The wheezing, gasping child instantly feels relief. Tiny, tense shoulders relax peacefully, and the frightened eyes immediately show the comfort.
How incredibly lucky I am to live in a place where all this is possible!
While I stayed up with my daughter at night, I couldn’t help but think of mothers who don’t have these resources. Those who watch over their sick children in war zones, refugee camps, or disaster-stricken areas. My heart tightened: what would I do if I sat awake by the bed, listening to her breathing, but had no tools to help?
Staying up all night with a sick child, knowing you have to be strong the next day, is exhausting—no doubt about it. But which mother wouldn’t do it? Who wouldn’t stay awake, cross seas, or walk hundreds of kilometers to save their child?
How incredibly lucky I am that all I have to do is stay awake and press a button on the inhaler every two hours.
After the next spray, I watched my daughter’s face a little longer, listened as her breathing smoothed out, and saw her drift back into the deepest sleep. Then I looked out the window. It was a clear night with a brightly shining full moon.
Somewhere under that same moon, a mother is staying awake, helplessly watching her sick child, able to do little more than pray…
