To Build a Home

Chapter 6

“The x-rays confirmed the pneumonia. We’ve started antibiotics and steroids, but those will take a few hours to really kick in,” Dr. Laska explained as she pulled her stethoscope from her neck, secured the buds in her ears, and placed the metal disc against Isaac’s chest.

“Is it okay that his heart rate is this high?” Derek asked as he pushed his fingers through Isaac’s hair, the fast paced beeping that had been coming from the monitor for a good forty minutes now making his own heart rate rise.

“That’s just from the albuterol and his body fighting the infection. It’ll come down soon. His oxygen levels are lower than I’d hoped after that last treatment, though.”

“Do we do more nebs, then? Wait it out until the antibiotics and steroids start to work?” Derek asked, eyes searching the doctor’s face for any clue as to what she might suggest. “He’s still having a hard time.”

“Given his asthma and the severity of the pneumonia, there is something else we can do to make it easier for him to breathe,” the doctor offered as she wrote in Isaac’s chart. “That’s actually what I came in here to discuss.” Stiles felt his lungs tighten when he realized where the doctor was going with the conversation, head starting to shake at the idea.

“I’m not putting my three year old on a ventilator,” Stiles argued sternly, lungs seizing in the process. “He’s…he’s too young.”

“I think it’s the best shot we have at getting him breathing easier,” she explained. “His oxygen is in the mid-eighties and his lungs could use the rest.”

“No,” Stiles said, the word coming out with a slight whine as he approached the doctor.

“Stiles,” Derek whispered as he tried to physically pull his husband back toward him.

“He might not need to be on that long depending on how quickly his oxygen comes up.” Dr. Laska clicked her pen shut and closed Isaac’s chart. “I’ll let you two talk it over and I’ll be back in a little while,” she said before leaving the room.

“No,” Stiles cried as he shook his head back and forth, tears continuing to well as his breaths quickened.

“I don’t like the idea any more than you do, but I want what’s best for Isaac.”

“I’m not letting them shove a tube down his throat, Derek!”

“He can barely breathe, Stiles!” Derek argued in a hushed tone. “Why won’t you agree with me on this?”

“Because I know what it’s like,” he wheezed, “and I…I don’t want him to…to remember what...”

“Okay, calm down,” Derek said as he guided Stiles over to a chair. “Where’s your inhaler?” Stiles went to pull it out of his pocket, but it wasn’t there. He looked up at Derek, eyes big as he continued to panic, wheezes growing deeper as he struggled to keep his breathing under control.

Derek went through Isaac’s bag and pulled his inhaler out, watching as Stiles put it to his lips and breathed in two quick puffs of the medication, hands shaking as he closed his eyes and took deep breaths. “You’re a jittery mess, Stiles. How many puffs have you taken today?”

“E-eight,” he rasped.

“Eight?! You’ve been having trouble breathing all day?”

“M-maybe,” he admitted as he rubbed his chest to try and get the burning feeling to leave.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Isaac,” he whispered.

“Did you at least do a treatment?”

“No time,” Stiles said as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Jesus, Stiles. You can’t just-”

“Papa?” Isaac asked as he woke from the sedative, his voice slightly muted by the mask covering his mouth and nose. “Daddy?” he cried, panic beginning in the form of short, staccato inhales as Derek rushed to his bedside.

“Hey, baby boy,” Derek cooed as he took Isaac’s hand in his and looked into his eyes. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here.” He watched as tears slid down Isaac’s cheeks, chest heaving as he fought for air.

“M’scared,” he sniffled as he looked around at all of the wires and machines. “I know,” Derek assured him.

“I wanna go home,” he sobbed before breaking into a violent coughing fit that left him curled in a ball and barely able to catch his breath. Stiles lifted his head as Isaac’s deep and productive coughs began and pulled himself across the room so that he was right across from Derek, body leaning heavily on the bedrail. His hand gently rubbed across Isaac’s back, the toddler’s pale skin half exposed due to the untied back of the hospital gown, rapid rise and fall of his son’s chest mixed with the sound of congested breathing forcing him to choke back a sob of his own.

“I can’t watch him suffer anymore,” Derek whispered. “Please just say yes.”

“Derek, no,” Stiles said, voice low as he shook his head.

“What if he gets worse? Or it’s too late by the time you change your mind?”

“We just need to give the medicine more time.”

“Look at the monitor, Stiles,” Derek pointed, voice tinged with anger. “I know you know what all of those numbers mean. He’s getting sicker and the more time we spend arguing about this the longer we let Isaac suffer.”

Stiles bit his lip, hating that he knew the significance every number on the monitor. Hours sitting by his mother’s bedside had taught him ranges and extremes, and Isaac’s numbers hadn’t shown any signs of improvement even though he’d had two breathing treatments, continuous oxygen, and high doses of IV antibiotics and steroids.

“Okay,” Stiles sniffled as his hand left Isaac’s back.

“Is that a yes?” Derek asked, to which Stiles just nodded as he covered his face with one hand, other gripping the metal bedrail tightly.

x

“It huwts,” Isaac whimpered ten minutes later as doctors and nurses crowded the room, exhaustion from working so hard to breathe visible in the way his eyelids drooped and covered the brightness in his deep blue eyes.

“I know, baby. We’re trying to fix that. You’re just going to get a little sleepy again, okay?” Derek explained as he trailed his fingertips through Isaac’s hair, tears clouding his sight.

“Otay,” Isaac rasped softly, chest still rising and falling quickly.

“And when you wake up we’ll be right here,” Stiles tried to smile, voice cracking. Isaac’s eyes closed before he could say anything else, the doctor and nurses moving in quickly to intubate him.

Stiles didn’t even care that he was wheezing as Derek held him close and let him sob into his jacket, the leather soft and warm against his face.