Croup again

The quirky consultant led us around the ward, half-mumbling to himself as he zeroed in on our target patient for the day.

A ten-month old baby boy sitting in his cot looking quite delighted to be trapped behind bars. He grins at us knowing he was about to have an audience. His father sits behind him in an armchair, looking up at us quite disinterestedly, not showing any curiosity at all at the sudden influx of people near his son.

Our tutor suddenly stops in his tracks, just several metres away from the baby boy. He turns around, then motions us to do the same. The six of us quite confused, looked at him questioningly.

"Come on, come on. Turn around now. And close your eyes," he says in a thick Iranian accent. We turned all at once, bumping into each other, stethoscopes swinging and creating quite a commotion. It was quite comical really.

Some of the nurses stopped their work, their curiosity piqued as they watched the seven us line up in a row with our backs turned to the patients, eyes closed and frankly looking quite silly.

Then our tutor whispered, "Now quiet everyone. I want you to just listen. Just listen. Don't turn around."

In reflex, the six of us leaned back, our ears now pricked. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

And there it was. It was a quiet sort. High-pitched and sort of gurgling with each breath.

Stridor at rest.

Smiling excitedly at the sounds coming from the sick baby, we nearly turned around when we were rewarded with our long awaited prize. It came in the form of a cough.

A nice wet barking cough. So unique that one would not mistake it for anything else. Like a seal, some say.

"And that boys and girls, is a cough that is going to stay with you for the rest of your life. That is all you need to make your diagnosis," our tutor said wisely.