Felix has had a cold all his life.
Or so we thought.
Every night, without fail, he would be bunged up beyond belief. Thick, crusty bogeys, sometimes runny snot too, the sheet on his cot revolting. He snuffled, he snored, he snorted.
But only at night. Or during the occasional long sleep during the day. Or when I was breastfeeding him - I was always using that as an excuse for why it wasn't a very good feed, because he couldn't breathe through his nose properly. Because he had a cold.
(Babies are 'obligate nose breathers' until around six months. A description which makes them sound like creatures out of Harry Potter. But actually means breathing through the mouth is possible but not preferred.)
Until, at twelve weeks, I started thinking - what if it's something else? And why is he otherwise pretty happy during the day; if it was a cold, wouldn't he have it all the time?
And if he wasn't like this at night, would he be waking up so much in the small hours? Maybe he's not waking up cos he's hungry, maybe it's because he's as congested as the M4 out of London on a Friday evening.
Then we had a night nanny for the night for only the second time ever. She was disturbingly pretty - almost enough to make you forget how expensive she was. Oops, that sounds like I'm implying something else. I didn't mean to - she was a genuinely experienced maternity nurse.
And in the morning she said "He's not just blocked up. He's wheezing. You need to take him to the doctor."
A shower of guilt poured over my body.
The GP listened to his chest. He wasn't even doing his noisy breathing, cos it was daytime - I didn't think there would be anything for her to hear. But she said he did have a significant wheeze, especially on the right-hand side.
The shower increased to a waterfall.
The options, she explained, were to prescribe an inhaler or to send us up to the hospital to see a paediatrician. Or both. I pocketed the prescription, and booked in to see a private paediatrician. Thank you Bupa.
Thank goodness I had remembered to ring Bupa to add him to our policy the week before though. Apparently if you do it before they're three months, they're free until your annual renewal comes up. Three months and one day and you have to pay. That's a nice, caring rule.
In the meantime, I gave free rein to my tidal wave of guilt, declaring dramatically to anyone who asked after him "I thought he just had a cold, and was a noisy sleeper, but all this time he's been STRUGGLING TO BREATHE!"
The paediatrician took a detailed history, examined him thoroughly and asked lots of questions, eg "Does he have carpet and curtains in his bedroom?" "No, we keep him in the cellar." Then said it was either a nasal infection from the soft nose prongs on his tubes in the neo-natal unit (which is apparently quite common), an allergy or silent reflux. Or a combo.
So now he has his puffer three times a day (ipatroprium bromide) and some steroid/antibiotic drops for his nose twice a day (not the intended ones, cos they're so rarely prescribed the pharmacy didn't have them, so some other ones usually for eyes or ears) and he's a different boy. At least in terms of his breathing at night. He's quiet. And though he still needs a night feed, he doesn't wake ON AVERAGE, PLEASE DON'T JINX IT quite so early, and he settles more easily, for a longer stretch.
He also had a chest x-ray while we were at the Portland, to check whether he's been inhaling milk. The results were normal. In the waiting room beforehand, the radiographer, looking at Felix in his buggy right in front of me, asked "Have you brought Felix with you today?" "No, I brought a different baby. I thought that would be a help."
We go back to the doc on Wednesday, in his lovely spacious consulting room, with its reassuring leather armchairs and pictures of his own grandchildren, to whittle down the diagnosis.
In the meantime, here is a pic of of my boys. Felix Webster Tallon French, having taken good note of his initials, is doing what we call his 'Felix WTF?' face
