A few weeks ago I went to the Emergency Room, twice in 3 days. One day was the morning I was to leave on an overnight with Mr. Who for our 5th anniversary, and the other was the morning I was to go to see “Night Under Fire” at the racetracks.

It all started with Twin Ick.

Both the Who Twins had croup within a few days of each other. It sounded like the seal den at Sea World with all the barking around here from those two. Twin A refused to take medicine. There was no liquid I could hide it in. I begged, cajoled, cried, pleaded, and (I’m ashamed to admit it) threatened to take Blankie away if he didn’t take it. That just made him cry and bark more.

He needed Motrin, so we had to do it the old-fashioned way. And when I say we I mean Mr. Who, and when I say old-fashioned, I mean up the wahoo…(I hope “wahoo” is a universal term, or there might be some serious misunderstandings).

Turns out Wahoo medicine doesn’t hurt at all, and Twin A kinda grew to like it. Now we’ve created a Wahoo monster. It’s ok for now, but I’m not doing it when he’s a teenager.

I have limits.

Twin B drinks his juice so often and so quickly, I could probably hide a bowl of mac-n-cheese in it and he wouldn’t know, or care.  So he was not a lucky recipient of the Wahoo medicine.

They finally got better, then yours truly starts feeling it. Not the croup, although, that would have been interesting as a 42 year old.  I would have totally taped myself barking like a seal.

I thought at first it was allergies. I CANNOT be getting sick. I have been waiting for this anniversary trip for 364 days. Monday, I’m feeling “eh”. Tuesday I’m feeling: “ehhhhhh”, and Wednesday morning, the morning of the trip, I couldn’t swallow and somehow Khan snuck into my home and shoved 18,000 earwigs into my ears.

“KHAAAAAAAAAAN!”

The PAIN! Oh. Em. Gee. It hurt so bad. I was scared to swallow, but was so thirsty. I wanted to drink a gallon of water. I never want to drink a gallon of water until I can’t.  Swallowing hurt and I ached from head to toe. Like ran over with a truck, then run over by a steamroller, then used as a flyswatter by Godzilla. I crawled into the ER, begging for relief. You know what they gave me at the hospital?

NOTHING.

Where were my painkillers? My saline? My antibiotic??

I got nothing but one little nausea pill and a few to take home.

B-words…

So I went home, and somehow after a few hours of back and forth got Mr. Who to take me away anyway. I mean, come on, would you rather get over something HUGE like Pharyngitis (yeah, apparently we have pharnyxes) alone or with kids jumping on you?

So we went, watched a lot of movies and I started feeling better.

Then came Saturday morning where my ears hurt again so bad, I was begging for the olden days of 18,000 earwigs. I drive myself to the ER, stumbled in, and whispered: “please help me, I’m going to throw up”…Just so you know, when “vomit” is mentioned, the nice nurses in triage take you in much faster.

THIS ER doctor couldn’t BELIEVE the other one sent me home without an antibiotic since I had a raging case of…

Wait for it…

Tonsillitis.

But not really, because my tonsils weren’t really swollen, there was just nothing else to call it. It was a mystery.

So yes, I, CarrieLouWho, aged 42, went to the ER twice for tonsillitis.

Who goes to the ER for that??? Me.

I missed Night Under Fire.

And I couldn’t even eat any ice cream.

 

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