At the End of the Day

Today was a bad day.

A really, really bad day. 

It began after a ridiculous night of kicking and thrashing about in my sleep, which in the morning ended in a horrendously sore throat.  But it wasn't just sore...it was swollen.  Like mono-swollen.  I already had mono, and I wasn't confident that I was one of the rare and lucky ones who get it more than once.  But it was weird...as I snoozed my alarm four times over, I found myself feeling obstructed in the back of my throat.  Something was getting stuck back there.

I grabbed a flashlight on the way to the bathroom and took a peek.  Holy crap.  My uvula (that seemingly useless taggy thing that hangs down in the back of your throat) was so big and long that it was actually resting on my tongue.  And the rest of it...well, let's just say that judging by the size of my tonsils, I'm surprised I got any air past them at all last night.  It's a good thing I got antibiotics yesterday, I thought to myself.  I was fighting off an all-too-familiar lingering sinus infection, and got put on a big gun antibiotic of Ceftin.  Well, that's handy.

Fast forward two hours, which was precisely one hour after I choked down my second horse pill of Ceftin.  I was talking to two of my coworkers, when all of a sudden they started staring and pointing at my neck.  "What's up with your rash?" One of them asked.  Uh, rash?  As it turns out, a splotchy and spreading rash was running from my chin and down my chest, and was also spreading onto my back.  A third coworker pulled her drawer open to expose Benadryl.  I was having an allergic reaction to my horse pills.  That explained the throat swelling last night.

"No, no, no Benadryl, I won't even be able to drive home," I begged.  It's true.  Give me half a dose of Benadryl and I'll be hung over for an entire 24 hours, not kidding.  "Give it another hour and we'll see if it stops spreading."

My coworkers stared at me.  "Uh, the swollen throat?" One of them reminded me.  They didn't like my plan, but I wasn't ready to go home.  I just got there.

I should have gone home.  Oh, not because of the allergy.  I didn't swell up like a Jimmy Dean sausage or anything.  The rash subsided, I continued to breathe, and I worked with my clinic to call in a new prescription for a different antibiotic.  I should have gone home 'cuz I just proceeded to have a really bad day. 

It eventually passed, as all bad days do.  I picked up Ollie from day care, one of my favorite moments of the day ("Mama!"), and we drove to Cub pharmacy to pick up Zithromax- not a big-gun, but not something that will impede my airway either.  I saw a car in the pick-up lane of the pharmacy, and it wasn't going anywhere fast.  I decided to bring Ollie in with me and we'd pick it up in person.  Something told me that would be faster.

That would be wrong.  We abandoned the wait to go find wonton wrappers: potato cheddar chive wontons were on the menu for this week, and of all things, I forgot the wonton wrappers after my hour-long grocery trip yesterday.  Here's a hint, by the way, if you ever decide to purchase wonton wrappers.  They're not in the refridgerated section with things like phyllo dough or rolls, where it would make sense.  Oh, no.  They are in the PRODUCE section, above the carrots.  (?????)  Life-Lesson-Still-Learning #465: sometimes, it's worth just asking personnel where something is instead of making seven loops in the grocery aisles.  Okay, so anyway, wonton wrappers in hand, we head back to the counter.  The slow people taking up so much time in front of us?  JUST left, after 10 minutes.  We stood at the pick-up counter, and I talked to Oliver in a voice a little louder than necessary: "Yes, Oliver, we are at the phar-ma-cy.  We're here to pick up Mommy's ME-DI-CINE."  No service.  About five minutes later, the pharmacist jaunted over.  "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see you!  It's because you're so short!"

Did I mention that I had a bad day? 

I also mentioned that they always pass.  And this?

This helps quite a bit. 

It even helped me to brighten up long enough to make up a joke.  I showed Michael the package of somehow-related-to-carrots wonton wrappers.

"How much do you think this package weighs?" I asked him.

"Dunno," he said.  No fun, that man.

"Oh come on," I encourage. "It says right here on the package."

He looks at it.  "Uh, 3/4 pound?"

"Um, no.  Try WON TON."