Peej sure knows how to keep the excitement going 'round here.
Last night, as we were prepping the gals for bedtime, he acknowledged that the left side of his face had gone completely numb- something that had been growing in intensity since the night before, along with painful ear pressure. (He had mentioned this when he got home on Saturday night, but me- awesome wife that I am- told him to suck it up. He had just flown from Seattle to Chicago and had been riding the Sniffles Carousel like everyone else in the city proper this season. Ear pressure happens. Happy weekend!)
But it was the continued mentioning that gave me pause, as did the fact that he called our doctor. 'Cause P.J. only brings up medical intervention if his elbow is hanging off of his body at a bloody, 90 degree angle. Or if a piano falls on him. Stuff like that.
The doctor confirmed the suspicion that- yes- a numbed face was cause for concern. So we called our ever-awesome neighbors to stay with our confused-by-the-pace-of-bedtime children. And even though P.J. said he'd drive himself, I took him to the E.R.
As we approached the check-in desk, we overheard a conversation between a police officer and two nurses. Something about jambalaya and like, surprise shrimp or something that no one could believe. Strangely, their conversation kept up for the next five or so minutes while we waited behind them. I mean, I wasn't expecting them to Noah Wylie us all up in there and strap him to a gurney, but maybe- just maybe- the shrimp story could wait until someone asked if P.J. was bleeding out? Maybe?
Finally, the cop nodded towards P.J. and apologized to me. “That’s ok!” I brightly replied. Because, if nothing else- I AM SUPER POLITE AND PLEASANT in times of stress. So one nurse asked P.J. what was up and he explained about his facial numbness, etc., etc., and the police officer nodded sagely and offered up “That’s serious.” (I agreed. Politely.)
So they “fast tracked” us a room, where I had the completely inappropriate excitement over being checked out by a passing-by male nurse three times. He even did the showbiz triple take. I tried to high-five P.J. over it, but he was unimpressed. (I mean, I’m sure I was eyefuls better than the cuffed prisoner one waiting room over, but I chose to take it as a compliment.)
Once they determined that P.J. was not, in fact, having a stroke or a seizure or bleeding out, we had a lot of time on our hands to do stuff like look at the artwork.
|How cute is he? Also, how totally bizarre is that artwork?|
I'm not completely sure what's happening there: unwise balancing,
a strange proportion/depth sorta thing...and the sun is reading? What?
Long story kinda shorter; they did a whole lotta weird stuff to P.J., we had the whole Sunday night "time to just talk" that I'm always craving, and the doctor stated that Peej had a) a deeply impacted ear infection, b) a blocked sinus infection, and c) insane pressure from that facial Venn diagram which caused nerve hilarity.
And, while that was incredibly painful for him, it was a massive relief for me. Because as I told him- I wasn't truly feeling spoon-feeding him rice pudding while draping him with a plaid blanket at the seaside.
Which is how I visualize recovery from a stroke, apparently.
Anyhow. Horse pills have been consumed, thank-you casseroles need to be prepped, and no one is any worse for the wear. Except for that artwork.
That thing will be haunting my dreams for years to come.