I end up in the hospital more than I’d like. At midnight, Addison couldn’t breath. It sounded like he was choking. His glands swell as easily as a bird flies. It’s a toss up between an allergic attack and a viral infection. Every so often I have to use the emergency room to make it through the night.

On the way home, after a painful shot and being poked up and subjected to bright lights, my little guy was babbling away and pointing at all the lights in the parking lot. When he saw our car he pointed to it and made his “vrrrm vrrrm” sign, his fists curled in the air. He chattered and laughed all the way home. Upon opening the door, he pointed to his toy box and said:

Let’s go Mom!

He gave the sign for “dog,” which meant he wanted to read his Clifford books.

I rocked him to sleep after he drank a bottle of coconut water. I put him in his bed and stood over him, listening for signs of wheezing. Earlier I had said to the darkness: Please, I don’t want to go to the hospital. When I was searching for my wallet and an extra diaper and my insurance card, it didn’t seem like my prayers were heard.

With only a few hours before daybreak, I ended up back in bed, struggling to find the words of thanks for the hospital I’ve spent so much time at. It represents so much pain, and it’s also a last-resort route I choose as if I’m rolling up my own sleeve to take another painful shot.

Then, every time - without fail - Addison blossoms into yet another miracle. My suffereing is nothing compared to his. Yet, he woke up with a smile. Got ready for school and even colored an elephant after breakfast. It’s “his” day at school. They are celebrating Addison. He brought juice and a picture of a lion for everyone to color. When Addison sees a lion he puts his hand up like a big cat and curls his finger tips ands says: roooaarrr.

He’s a fighter. I just have to keep following his lead.