You Can Pick Your Friends, But You Can't Pick Your Family

My extended holiday weekend is over and my schedule may now resume to its normally chaotic schedule. Anyone around here knows that the weather on the 4th left much to be desired. The next day was absolutely gorgeous...good thing 'cause it was a busy one.

Our church was hosting a 5th of July celebration that included food and music and capped off with a gorgeous fireworks display. Our fine arts kids (and parents) were to sell drinks during the event with all proceeds going towards their trip (National Fine Arts Festival). The afternoon was set aside to set up, put drinks on ice, and get a good practice in before the crowds arrived.

Looks fine on paper...

Practice began around 5 with sound check. Hunter would be singing a song that he wrote, and play guitar as he sang. He practiced the song (which I had not heard before--I was impressed, of course) and then they began practicing the stomp routine. Cut to the next moment when I see someone running toward H who is now off the stage and bent over at the waist in the grass. From where I was, I thought maybe he was overheated b/c I could clearly see that his face was beet red and it looked as if he were throwing up...(sorry for the visual)

I proudly kept my cool as I walked toward him and then I heard someone say...

"I think he's choking"...and then I ran.

By the time I reached him, he was still gagging, coughing and spitting. But he was breathing, which was a good sign...and his face was red and not blue. Apparently, my 13 y/o, in all his wonderful teen wisdom had swallowed his guitar pick. Really? Not once when my kids were Taylor Tots (say it fast- funny, huh?) did they swallow things. (2 1/2 HOURS BEFORE HE WAS TO PERFORM!!!)

I helplessly stood by while my baby was in obvious agony. He could breathe, but was hurting beyond his wildest dreams. My heart broke for him as he tried to cough it up or something...but alas...it was gone. After consulting a GI nurse (later H said all he could think of was Joe when we mentioned GI), I shakily called his dad to announce that we needed to head to the ER. Being married for so long, all I had to do was say "Hey" when Tim answered the phone and he instantly asked what was wrong. We roll like that...which is good, I guess.

So...here is the shortened version of the next few hours;

Arrive at ER--make nurses laugh when I announce our reason

Go to triage room--H still in obvious pain when swallowing

T arrives--all is well

Dr arrives--more laughter (subdued...she was a professional you know)

H continues to spit into a bag b/c it hurts to swallow

I leave room to potty (neverending) and H asks T if this might kill him (*sniff*)

T's heart breaks, but he told H he has dibs on his drums and guitar

H unceremoniously tells T to shut up--he feels better about the future now

H talks non-stop (except for when spitting) THE ENTIRE TIME

Informed via text that show is pushed back should triumphant return occur

H goes to x-ray

Pick is found down in tummy

Surgery ruled out (appropriate time for Hallelujuah chorus)

H asks if he can sing

Given medical equivalent of snot to numb his throat

Medicine causes numbing and talking like a male fashion designer (lisp)

Nurses and Dr wish H luck--expect autographs someday

Hunger returns to 13 y/o--life is back to normal

We arrive back at the church about 30 minutes before the youth are to go on. Know what? H starts off the show singing his song (I was so stinkin proud) then proceeds to do the stomp routine.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of his stomach lurks a plastic little pick just waiting to emerge.

H keeps checking to see if it has shown up...yep there it is, that taste of vomit in my mouth (strong gag reflex). But so far nothing...let's hope this is the final time the rubber gloves ever have to be donned.