Dang you oxygen tank!

Hannah had a rough night last night. This cold is not going away easily. She has been fighting it for ten days. She started to get better and then took a turn back in the other direction. She's tired. I'm tired. Ben is tired. We take turns getting up in the middle of the night to do percussion on her chest. It is supposed to help her move all that "junk" out. All I can see it doing is teaching my baby, who just figured out to sleep through the night, to wake up in the middle of the night. I had great plans to rebel last night. I thought I'd let the poor kid get one good night sleep. And yes, I was being a little greedy and hoping for a good night sleep for myself too. Hannah woke up at midnight coughing. And at half past. And at one. At two I gave in. And at three, her alarms on the monitors started going off. She wasn't keeping her saturations up.  I got back out of bed. I checked all the lines. I checked her cannula. All fine. So dang. I had to believe the monitor at this point. I watched her for another ten minutes. She wasn't getting any better. So back out of bed again, this time to turn up her oxygen. Why, why, why, are her oxygen needs still going up? Isn't she supposed to be getting better at this point? Or at least stable? I am beginning to doubt her diagnosis now. I am getting an irrational hatred of the oxygen tank. Is it still irrational even if I admit it? I know the tank has nothing to do with our current problem. But if I could pick it up, so help me God, I would do some serious damage to that thing. Instead, I try to remind myself that the tank is the sole reason I am able to keep Hannah at home. And for that I am so grateful. So I am off to try another new recipe for mocha brownies. And I wonder why my pants no longer fit the way they used to. Sigh. I guess it is the lesser of two evils at this point.