The Snuffles

While the days of colic and 3 hourly feeds are long behind us, but are still an agenda item during my counselling sessions with the local psychiatrist, I can say that for the majority of our time with Amelie, it is smooth running. But there is at least one week within each month which isn’t so pleasurable. Like that scene from Jurassic Park where the pulsating plastic cup on the dashboard represents the horror of the T-Rex looming in the distance, the onset of a runny nose heralds a similar terror to us. I’m sure there is a medical name for it, probably Rhino-something, but the doctors generally refer to it as the "snuffles". Don’t let the cuteness of the name distract from the evil that it is. For those of you not familiar with the snuffles, it is when the nasal passages of the baby become blocked due to inflammation of the blood vessels surround them, and not mucus, as one might assume based on the runny nose. And yes, seeing it written so simply, it doesn’t sound that nasty. But let me tell you, I would gladly consider doing another week of 3 hourly feeds than having to deal with the ramifications of this condition.

The main concern is Amelie’s welfare. A stuffy nose for an adult can be annoying, and on occasion, hinders a restful night’s sleep. But as adults we have the skills involved to quickly change from nasal breathing to mouth breathing with little effort. The furry tongue is an obvious and unpleasant by-product of this technique, but it is a necessary evil considering the alternative. But it’s the alternative that is the only option for a baby. As a result, the routine we so painstakingly implemented over several months verges on falling apart, because Amelie begins, over time, to hate sleeping. It’s not that she doesn’t want to sleep. It’s more that she can’t sleep, and if she does, the nasal blockage forces her to breathe in heavily, thus pushing the mucus down her throat. The fear of waking up retching violently (and, at times, vomiting) is something she has become weary of, and so bedtime quickly becomes a place of both physical and psychological darkness for her.

We’ve been to the doctors about this several times, and because of her age there has been very little they could do or prescribe. The usual suggestions are saline drops, which would help break down any mucus (though this contradicts the theory that it’s inflamed blood vessels blocking the nasal passages) combined with an aspirator to draw the mucus from the nose (the 21st century version of sucking gunk from your baby’s nose using your mouth). If all else fails turn to the trusty Capol, which acts as an anti-inflammatory reducing the pressure around the blood vessels. At one stage we were even prescribed antihistamines to rule out allergies, but we didn’t really see any improvement after using it. After all measures and suggestions by the professionals were failing, we turned to the Internet. I don’t condone doing this in the first instance. Any health issues, especially those concerning your child, should always be dealt with in the doctor’s surgery. But considering the condition wasn’t anything life threatening and it was only suggestions we were looking for, we saw no harm in getting a little advice from those going through a similar situation. A few suggestions we stumbled on were running a hot shower and allowing the steam to help break down congestion. Vapour rub (baby version only), rubbed onto the chest before the baby goes to sleep was another. And a couple of others were placing a pillow under the mattress to raise the baby’s head, and using a humidifier to keep the air in the room from drying out, a common cause of nasal blockage – though I fail to really understand how dryness can produce so much wetness. Of all the suggestions and advice given, only the humidifier is the one we haven’t tried.

Amelie is, as I’m typing this out, suffering with the snuffles. Her nights are broken, and we’re up periodically, working together to help calm her down and alleviate the forced breathing. I sing Golden Slumbers by The Beatles, and rock her in my arms. And while I would like to think it’s my sweet melodic tones that help coax her back to sleep, I have a feeling it is more the angle of her head bringing on a shift of mucus. Fortunately, this has put me off applying for X Factor next year. Carla adopts a similar practice, and through the baby monitor I hear her sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Days like this are very challenging. A lack of sleep, combined with the distress of hearing your baby coughing like an aged smoker is both exhausting and heart wrenching. And while I hope it is just a matter of development, and in time her nasal passages with grow and so the tiniest amount of build up won’t be so traumatic for her, I find myself every couple of weeks listening to her breathing while she’s sleeping, waiting for that first forced breath, and the clatter of the snuffles.