My husband spent the weekend not feeling very well and felt even worse as the week began. His doctor diagnosed him with asthmatic bronchitis (we're all going to assume I spelled that correctly, 'kay?) His general feeling of misery increased as the evening progressed last evening and while I am a great admirer of various shades of plum and purple - it is just not a good color for him. Our conversation around 8:00 went something like this:
Me: I think maybe you should call your doctor.
Him: I'm (cough, cough, cough, cough, wheeze) fine.
Me: How about we just go to the emergency room.
Him: No (wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, cough). I don't (cough) need (cough) the emergency room.
Me: I'm dialing the doctor.
Him: Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough.
The doctor told us to go to the ER. Go figure. Unfortunately, we were treated to an extensive stay in the waiting room, where, in an effort to make your stay more enjoyable, they offer coffee now. I'm thinking it is going to take a lot more than coffee to make it worth my while. Hubby tried to leave three times during our hour and a half stint waiting for the triage nurse.
So, finally, after codeine cough syrup and a chest x-ray, he received a nebulizer treatment at 1:30 in the morning and I did what any mature, mother of two would do - started giggling and taking pictures.
Fortuately, our trip to the ER was greatly helpful and my ever loving husband is able to breathe again - and I am very thankful.