boat painting

I've just offered to make Erin a beaded-glasses-holder-necklace-thingy and this can only mean one thing. Two actually. I'm feeling better. And my sense of humor is back. All is well until she takes me up on it.

HolycrapIgothitbyaMacktruckanditsuckedsososobad.

Merritt spared me his Pink eye, but shared the ear infection. On my first night super early morning in the ER, when asked to rate my pain, I qualified it with, "I've broken my collar bone and given birth. But this is still a 9." I hate saying that. I think I have a decent enough threshold for pain unless you hit me in the nose with the cardboard from a washing machine box. I guess they didn't take me seriously because when I was registering and they asked what was wrong, I told them I thought I was having a heart attack in my ear. I waited for two and a half hours without care before I bucked up (read: stopped crying for long enough to get back in my Jeep) and drove myself home to wait another 2 hours for Urgent Care to open. During that two hour wait I wailed every time Erin so much as thought about breathing because if that breeze hit my ear, I would surely die.

Here's the part where I'm not the world's biggest complainer: when I got to Urgent Care and the Nurse Practitioner looked in my ear, she was shocked (like gasping and stroking my arm) that I'd made it through the night. Okay, so maybe it was a 9.5. Never mind that vaginal grenade I experienced 17 months ago.

She loaded me up with antibiotics and steroids and drops and sent me on my way. All was to be well.

Until 6 days later when I had made no improvement and was actually worse off, what with the ear infection falling into my lungs. Visited the NP again. Stronger antibiotics, new steroids, more steroids, and a moving/terrifying story about a pair of lesbians who were painting a boat and one (the lifelong asthmatic) died from inhaling the fumes because her airways were so jacked from her lifetime of not breathing quite right. The story scared the shit out of both Erin and me, but we resolved to live forever by never painting a boat.

Sort of hard to keep that resolution when one of us experiences a major reaction to one of the new meds, losing all feeling in her hands and feet, unsure as to what might lose feeling next ... face, lungs, brain, heart? Hello, again, Emergency Department.

Turns out I'm rare, special, part of the .1% who can't handle their Advair. So I'm really going to have to hold to the not painting a boat bit.

And now that I'm on the mend, the Missus is ailing. Can't catch a break. Can catch a cold.