Hey, I'm nothing if not honest with myself and we've never claimed to be the adult supervision here. That was Aubrey until she moved out and Kearstin took her place. Then she moved out and left Caymen in charge.
Which brings us to last Friday night. Caymen was in charge when it all went down. Don't forget that.
It all started in the van on the way home from the high school basketball game. Everything was great. What should have happened is we arrive home, I make a little jar margarita, and we go to bed and live happily ever after. What actually happened was Ron suddenly broke the dead silence of the van with his loudest most annoying karate sound "DEEEEEEEEP" as he simultaneously swung his right arm out and stopped a karate chop right before it connected with my neck.
He didn't hit me. He just scared the shit out of me. If you didn't know, scaring the shit out of Sassy is my grandson's favorite pastime. He hides behind every door and around every corner and jumps out yelling at me, sometimes with weapons, and the louder I scream, the funnier he thinks it is. It used to be cute when he was little and I could see him waiting for me. But now he's 8, dangerously stealth, and he's completely shot my nerves to oblivion. But he's so dang charming I can't even get mad.
So now a honking horn, a loud semi passing my side of the van, a bird in the garage...all get the same response from me. I jump and scream.
Ron knows about my nerves and Ron isn't a charming 8 year old. SO, his "DEEEEP" and karate chop was the tipping point for how the rest of the evening played out. Don't forget who started this, k?
I couldn't form words after his little stunt. I didn't even scream. My heart just stopped for a split second right before my vision went red with rage. When we got home, I silently climbed out of the van and heard him yell, "What's wrong?"
I know, right?
I met Caymen upstairs for an office party. An office party is when we stay up late and eat snacks while we watch Hell's Kitchen. I walked in and my eyes honed in on the tin of nuts leftover from our New Year's Eve party. The pecans and almonds were gone, but the center column of candied cashews sat untouched, because back in 2007 when I was pregnant with Caymen, I had an allergic reaction to either cashews or hazelnuts. I was never tested, so I've spent the past 16 years avoiding both nuts.
But in my ptsd-pissed-off-margarita state of mind, the chances of the 2007 culprit being the hazelnut seemed to be in my favor. So I popped the tin and ate the cashews. All of the cashews.
It only took a few minutes to feel the tightening in my chest, which of course I attributed to paranoia because it couldn't possibly be an allergic reaction to the 6 servings of cashews I just ate. My odds were 50/50 and the margarita said I couldn't lose.
SO. I decided the best course of action was to eat something else to counteract my paranoid thoughts.
Three rice Krispy treats later, my throat tightened, and Caymen, who had zero idea that anything was going on because I didn't tell her, saw me bolt from the room and heard me violently vomiting in the bathroom. She ran and got Ron.
He found me in the bathroom naked, vomiting, and shaking, and one of them mentioned calling 911. I can't remember who, but I'm guessing Caymen. I shot that down fast. Some people who work for the squad take my classes and having them walk in to find me laced with tequila and gluttoned with nuts and sweets is not a good fitness instructor look. They said they'd take me to the ER themselves, but that would've required me putting clothes on and the thought of getting dressed was so overwhelming to me that I told them that wasn't an option either.
For future reference, the person having the nut allergy should never be the one calling the shots.
Speaking of shots, they also debated whether or not to use our 5 year old granddaughter's Epi pen on me. She's allergic to nuts. Go figure. We have an Epi pen for her here, but she's like 40 pounds and I'm like...not 40 pounds, and none of us have ever actually used the Epi pen and the thought of being Ron and Caymen's test dummy while they stabbed me who knows where like a voodoo doll, seemed as overwhelming as the thought of putting clothes on.
I told them I just needed a hot bath to warm me up. I mean, that's where Ron put me the last time I had the nut attack, because it was during an Ohio State Game and he had to do something with me until the game was over. I lived to tell about it and I'm not bitter at all. *cough*
So he lowered me into the bathtub with a trash can and I sat under the screaming hot water vomiting. Then he told me I should lay back so the hot water covered my whole body to warm me up faster.
For future reference, Ron should never be the one calling the shots either.
As soon as I laid back into the water, Kearstin showed up beside the bathtub, reached in and grabbed my hand and told me I'd be okay.
The only problem with that is, Kearstin lives in Cincinnati and was nowhere near our bathtub.
Days later, we described all of this to my daughter-in-law Barbara, the medical professional in our family, and she's guessing that's the point I passed out from the hot water. Turns out, the hot bath was just one of the many terrible choices made by everyone that night, including but not limited to: no one calling 911, no one calling her, no one trying the perfectly good Epi pen on the shelf in the kitchen, and no one even thinking to try Benadryl. All of which would've still warranted a visit to the ER, which never did happen.
I just envision Ron carrying me over his shoulder into the ER, naked, wet, shot in the neck with a toddler Epi pen, and every orifice of my body crammed with Benadryl tablets because I was unable to swallow- *drops me on their counter* "I've done all I can do."
But back to my bath hallucinations. Caymen then left me alone in the bathroom with Ron to go call Kearstin to thank her for holding my hand, as you do.
*flash to Kearstin's phone ringing at midnight wondering if she should answer Caymen's call and Trevor telling her to silence her phone because it was probably just Caymen excited for the school dance the next day and nothing bad happens in the middle of the night anyway.*
Trevor. I'm pretty sure everything bad happens in the middle of the night, but anyhoo...
I have no recollection of being removed from the bathtub, but according to Caymen, she returned from unsuccessfully getting ahold of Kearstin to finding me wet and naked on the couch and Ron fully clothed laying spread eagle on the floor beside me.
Apparently he threw his back out. One might guess it was from picking up my dead weight out of our deep bathtub, but no. He sneezed. Don't even get me started on his overly dramatic body rackin' sneeze seizures, but seeing as I inadvertently tried to kill myself because I was mad, let's just say we both have problems controlling ourselves and call us even.
That's when Caymen decided to go to bed. That's right, our only adult supervision left us laying to die in the living room for the police to piece together causes of deaths. Pray for us.
I woke up the following morning fully clothed in our bed and feeling like I'd gotten hit by a truck. Eventually Ron's back had slipped back into place enough for him to get me in my pajamas and into bed and my body finished ejecting every last trace of nut from itself around 3am, although I still don't remember anything after Kearstin and the bathtub.
Any medical professionals reading this and tempted to scold me about everything we did wrong, save it. Your common sense is wasted here.
We're in good hands now. Due to our lengthy history of medical DIY attempts, Barbara said she's going to make us a big binder with labeled tabs to keep on our counter for reference in medical emergencies.
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