Hey, this baby-on-a-respirator thing has perks. Free iced coffee!

It was supposed to be a routine appointment with our neurologist in the hospital, but it turned into an ER visit.

After an hour-long discussion about tone and seizure medications punctuated by the steady beeping of Aviva’s saturation monitor, which was hovering at 86, the good doctor determined a stethoscope examination was in order. And after that, he decided a chest X-ray would be a wise idea and personally escorted us down the hall to our friends in the ER.

Several hours, one X-ray, one ultrasound, and a pulmonologist examination later, we were discharged with a diagnosis of pneumonia, a prescription for antibiotics, and a recommendation to attach Aviva to her respirator all the time, not just at night, a suggestion I shoved to the back of my mind.

Aviva left to day care the next day, leaving her respirator behind. Taking it out of the house would be so impractical. Using it at home after school hours would have to suffice. I hoped the antibiotics would kick in soon, and we could put this story behind us.

At four o’clock, the school day was over. On that Wednesday, our afternoon help came late, so Aviva joined her siblings and me on the sidewalk, watching the dual attractions of construction in the building near us and the volunteers in the Degel HaTorah car distributing banners.

We went into the house eventually, thoughts of respirators all but forgotten in the rush of baths and supper. Suddenly, the doorbell buzzed.

Doorbells ringing on a Wednesday at six could mean only one thing: Dr. B., Aviva’s home hospitalization doc, had come to check on her. We ‘d been in contact several times during her ER visit, so his first question, after “How’s Aviva feeling?” was “Is she using the respirator more?”

The answer was patently obvious. Aviva was sitting in the center of the room in her bouncer with the unused respirator shoved forlornly in the corner.

“Uh,” I stammered intelligently, “I forgot.” He wasn’t impressed.