Just a couple of days ago I lamented the wait to get into a doctor. I think I knew then. I just knew. That’s why I panicked.

I ignored the instinct and let myself be soothed.

And he ended up here.

He probably would have anyway, but the timing might have been better – but that is a different post for another day when I can step away from my anger.

Before the doctor entered the room, she was already sending the nurse to find him a room, writing orders for strong antibiotics, a PICC line and extensive breathing treatments.

He’s in until Monday.

But he was just diagnosed a year ago.

Already he’s in for a CF related illness.

He didn’t start getting sick until about 5 years ago.

It was once a year.

This year – it’s twice.

Knowing this disease is progressive never scared me as much before. Not until it took less than 2 years for Denver to end up here.

Not until it took 2 days to get bad enough to require this.

Not until knowing that despite the amazing functions he usually has, the life full of Cross Country & playing, he could degrade so far so very fast.

It’s frightening.

Not just for us.

For him – now that he’s living it.