This morning we made the pilgrimage into Orlando so that I could have testing done to determine the proper Lyme protocol. I brought my entourage with me in the van. The children were strapped into the van. I rode shot gun.
As per usual, the meal of choice was served en route. I never leave home without a cooler now. This facilitates snacking opportunities for the offspring and gluten free options for me so that I don’t die during my daily errands.
Jensen was gnawing on something directly behind me and began coughing. He coughs all the time, mainly because ALL THE DINOSAUR ROARING irritates his throat. So I’ve perfected the art of ignoring him. Fiddledaddy, ever on high alert, looked into the rear view mirror and noticed the child holding his throat and not able to breathe. I began paying attention when I detected the urgency in his voice, “ARE YOU OKAY BUDDY?”
I heard a barely audible Jensen quietly say no.
I threw my phone and glasses down onto the floorboard and whipped my head around to assess the situation. The rest of me remained affixed to the passenger seat because I hadn’t unbuckled yet. I’m fairly sure my head did a 180. It was just like a scene from the Exorcist. But without the pea soup.
Since we were hurtling down the freeway, Fiddledaddy had to pull onto the shoulder and come to a rapid stop. Before I could get to the boy, his father was out the driver’s side door and sprinting around the van to open Jensen’s door. So then not only did I fear my son choking, I also envisioned a semi plowing into the back of us.
Because that’s how I roll.
What we gathered was that Jensen had been eating a snack cracker and it was lodged in his throat. He was breathing, but there were big crocodile tears in his eyes and he couldn’t talk. Water would not go down. Fiddledaddy stood him up and had him raise his arms up over his head. After a time that seemed like an eternity, the cracker made its way down. All the while I was watching through the back window of the van, ready to alert everyone to BRACE YOURSELVES. The boy did a bit of gagging and there was some talk of a search for a plastic bag should vomit enter the fray. I eyed the forest, mentally preparing for a quick exit. Alas, everything settled.
Once we were again safely tucked into our seat belts, we breathed a sigh of relief and continued on our journey.
Jensen immediately asked for something else to eat.
As I was about to turn and deny his request, I learned that I had a muscle spasm taking up residence in my upper left shoulder. Undoubtedly from all the whipping around. And years and years of pent up stress. And yes, the INFLAMMATION that has over taken me.
Some days I’m like Tim Conway’s Little Old Man from the Carol Burnett shuffling through my day.
But with slightly better hair.
We arrived safely and the appointment went fine. As long as I didn’t have to look to the left. Or the right.
After arriving back home, Fiddledaddy brilliantly suggested I call our chiropractor to see if their massage therapist had any openings. He knows my love language. They were able to fit me in at 4.
BEST MASSAGE I’VE EVER HAD. EVER.
So good in fact that when I stumbled out of the massage sanctuary, I looked and felt like I’d had 4 too many Martinis.
I’ll be getting the new Lyme protocol likely by next week.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to insist that an occasional massage is involved.