Large Fry and I spent four hours in the ER this morning.
Before you panic, we're home now. And Large Fry is fine. (I'm still getting over my attack of the Worry Gremlins.)
But this morning, it was obvious that Large Fry's cold (the same one the twins have) had progressed to something worse, as she wheezed and gasped for breath, inhaling rapidly and shallowly. It was bad enough that I canceled the appointment at the pediatrician's that I'd just made and opted to take her to the ER instead. (Her insurance is far more likely to cover the ER visit than a trip to the Urgent Care.)
Two breathing treatments and a couple of chest x-rays later, and Large was breathing much easier...and so was I. No pneumonia, just a very nasty bronchitis. Steroids, albuterol, follow up with her regular doc—the usual drill.
So we departed with discharge papers, an emesis (spell check suggests nemesis, which, given my usual reaction to violently upset stomachs, isn't far off) basin just in case the liquid steroid suspension made her nauseous, and two prescriptions.
And I dropped the scripts off at the pharmacy we use on our way home.
There we were...waiting at the red light to exit the CVS parking lot. I'm the only one awake, as the morning's adventure had wiped Large out.
And that's when I saw something I've never seen before.
A horse and buggy clip-clopped through the intersection, the horse prancing smartly and looking for all the world like he knew how handsome an animal he was.
That was not the unusual part. We have a lot of Old Order Amish and Mennonites around here. Horses, buggies, wagons, and bicycles are extremely common.
No, what astonished me was the racing flames decal that was affixed to the side of the buggy by the left rear wheel.
Only here, folks. Only here.