*I have been super busy with school and work this week, so here is another old story. Enjoy!*
Thanksgiving was always simple growing up at my house. Just my parents, my little brother, and me. The dinner would always be plenty for all of us, and there was always tons of food leftover to last days later.
I remember waking up for Thanksgiving when I was 11, things were the same as usual. I would wake up to mom in the kitchen already prepping for dinner. Turkey, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, and TONS of desserts. The perfect way to wake up, don’t you think?
That Thanksgiving, little did I know, was not about to follow tradition. Walking into the kitchen to smell all the food (and hopefully snag some samples), I heard what sounded like a raspy bullfrog in my little brother’s bedroom. *Black!* *Clarg!* *Blargcakblurghbugahck!*
WHAT IN THE WORLD?? I turn my head to see my little brother wrapped in a blanket and his complexion similar to a pistachio. Normally he races to the kitchen to help mom with the food and to open the Martinelli’s and pour some into a “fancy glass.” He did nothing but trudge to the couch and lay down.
Something was SERIOUSLY wrong.
Mom passed off “food duty” to me and went into the living room to check on him. *Cack!* Poor kid was not feeling well, and didn’t look to great either. One thermometer and talk with my dad later, we got in the car and headed to the hospital.
The entire car ride to the ER, my stomach growled longingly for all the food awaiting us at home. Hopefully, this visit wouldn’t take too long, and I could be home in no time eating the plethora of treats mom labored so hard to prepare. Sadly, that did not end up being the case.
We waited in the ER for what felt like days. My little brother sat there croaking away coughing up what I thought would eventually be his lungs, while I sat there reading magazines and watching the TV above with some sort of soap opera. Booooo-ring.
Finally, my brother’s name was called. We were escorted down the seemingly endless white hallway to the cold and empty room, with a big paper-covered bed in the middle. I sat on the tile floor, laying down my jacket underneath me so as to avoid getting to cold in the already frigid room. My brother dragged himself up onto the hospital bed and laid down.
The sound of grumbling tummies grew as my brother and I realized we had spent the entire day at the hospital, with all of Thanksgiving dinner waiting for us at home.
With sad puppy eyes, we looked over to mom to signal that we were hungry and fed up with being at the hospital. She walked away on food recon, and we sat in the room as the nurse was checking my brother’s pulse and all that other nurse-y stuff.
Mom returned with bags of chips and cans of Coca-Cola for us. At least it’s the real stuff, and not some imitation cola brand. We opened our chips, chugged our sodas, and sat there listening to the nurse talking to mom about what was wrong with my brother and his bullfrog sounds.
Blah blah blah… sick.. blah blah coughing…blah blah pneumonia?? Did I just hear the nurse spell S-H-O-T?? As in….needle??
I looked over to my mom wide-eyed and concerned on my brother’s behalf. To put it lightly, he did NOT like needles. I shall save that story for another time…
My mom returned my gaze with a look that sternly said “DON’T MAKE IT WORSE!”
So, naturally, I tried my best to stay calm as the nurse asked my brother to turn around on his stomach. I saw the needle and tried to keep my brother distracted. As he laid on his stomach, he looked over as if to question what was going on. The nurse and mom quickly said that he would feel a pinch and then it would be over. Before my brother could object, she whipped out the needle, poked him right below the waistband on his little butt, and put the band-aid on.
Surprisingly, he too it well. A minor complaint of pain. A slight grumpy look at my mother and me. And then, he was done with it. Wow….He REALLY doesn’t feel well.
After the shot, it was all uphill from there. It was night time, and dad called to inform us that he had eaten dinner without us. Meanwhile….we had chips and soda. Fun.
The ride home was quiet, no more croaking and phlegm. Dinner was put in the fridge in Tupperware containers, and dad was watching TV. My brother went to lay down on the couch, and mom microwaved some turkey and potatoes for us. We sat down and watched a movie and ate leftovers. I sat there a bit sad, realizing the whole holiday was over until the next year, and we had a dinner of chips and soda.
Then, it hit me.
THERE IS DESSERT IN THE FRIDGE!
I raided the Oreo cookie pie and pumpkin cake. Mercilessly. Then, suddenly, the whole rough day at the ER wasn’t so bad anymore. My brother was on the mend, and the pie and cake were SOOOOOO scrumptious. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad Thanksgiving after all.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!