Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Come to Think of It. . . I Still Don't Know if She Was Peeing or Not

So, I've never really told you this, but the real reason I didn't want Trigger to go away to college is that I somehow knew that one day I was destined to receive this panicked phone call, which came in at approximate 8:53 on Sunday morning. . . .


Me:  Hello?

Trigger:  Mom!  I'm in the most pain I've ever been in in my life!  Should I go to the emergency room?

Me:  What's wrong?

Trigger:  I told you yesterday!  My throat is so sore it feels like it's swollen shut. . .my glands are HUGE and my neck's all swollen. . . I can't move it, you know. . . and I can't touch it. . .  and I have the worst headache I've ever had in my life. . . and it's going down my spine now. . . and I've never been in so much pain in my entire life!  Should I go to the emergency room or not?

Me (considering. .  .) That much pain?  More than the time you broke your right foot in that Irish Dancing competition?

Trigger:  Yup!

Me:  More than the time you broke your left foot playing basketball?

Trigger:  More!

Me:  And what about the two times I brought you to the emergency room with pleurisy?  More than even those times?

Trigger:  Way more!

Me:  How about the appendicitis?  It can't hurt more than the time you had your appendix out. .  .

Trigger:  Mom!  That was Ponzi, not me!

Me:  What?

Trigger:  Mom!  I didn't ask you anything. Talk to me!

Me:  I'm trying!  But your father wants to know if you have a fever. .  .and if you were out at a frat party last night. .  . oh, and are you peeing. .  .

Trigger:  Of course I wasn't out last night, Mom!  I'm sick!  And I don't even know if I have a fever 'cause I can't find my thermometer!  And  what business is it of his if I'm peeing or not?


And if, by chance, you can't imagine a conversation worse than that one, I'm here to tell you that once Trigger was indeed in the emergency room (and I, in church mind you. . . ) our primary means of conversation then became texting:

Trigger:  Am hooked up to an I.V. now and they're giving me lots of medicine.

Me:  did u tell them u have lupus and did u give them you rheumatologist name (I have yet to master the art of punctuation and capital letters while texting. .  .)

Trigger:  Yeah, but they said I had to get hooked up right away.

Me:  r u dehydrated u father was right i bet u werent peeing what medicine they giving

Trigger:  I don't know!

Me:  ask them then tell them that doctor milkmans number is two one two eight five three two two nine three (How does one text a number???)

Trigger:  Some antibioitics, some painkillers, antinflammoatory (spelling has never really been Trigger's strong suit. .  .) and something so I don't throw up.

Me:  i think im going to throw up send it here

Trigger:  Mom!

I could go on like this forever,
but know that if Trigger were not back
in her dorm room within two hours of these texts,
I would not be here reporting to you as an ever-faithful  . . .