The Double Quarter Pounder of Death

As I mentioned earlier, I've been the worst housewoman ever over the past few weeks. I get home from work exhausted, in need of several pain killers, and not wanting to do anything but sleep. I used to cook dinner almost every night, and make sure there were plenty of (healthy) leftovers for Corey to take as lunch the next day. Well, as I haven't been cooking in the first place, there haven't been leftovers to take. Thus begins the story of how a double quarter pounder ruined our Wednesday.

The boy has school on base until late on Tuesday and Thursday nights. This means that I have to pack not only a lunch for him, but also a dinner. With my lack of cooking, I must confess I was turning a blind eye and pretending that my darling love was probably picking up a nice garden salad and tofu crisps to satiate his hunger. I secretly knew he was running thru the drive-thru and chose to ignore, so I take the blame.

Tuesday night he got home around 10pm complaining that his stomach had been hurting all during class. I gave him Tums and Mylanta and we went to bed. 20 minutes later he was still tossing and turning and complaining of his belly hurting. I found it odd, and asked what he'd eaten. "Oh, I had McDonald's," he answered sheepishly. "But what did you have at McDonalds, darling?" I knew immediately it wasn't going to be good from his guilty face and he reported that he'd only had a double quarter pounder with cheese, fries and a coke.

By 2:30 am the pains hadn't gotten better and had migrated to his right side. His abdomen felt rigid to me and with both of us thinking he might have a little appendix problem we jumped into the car and rushed to the Emergency Room. Let me just say that if he had needed an emergency Appendectomy I would be writing his eulogy right now because he would have died waiting to be seen in the emergency room. By 5:something (the sleepless hours blurred together) he was told to drink some CT Scan solution and miraculously, he started feeling better.

A Doogie Howser resident stuck on the morning shift finally came in and told him that they had no idea what was causing his pain, and that it could be gall stones. I had a sneaky suspicion it was more like a grease attack, but I kept my mouth shut.

By last night he was home in bed and feeling much better - trying to get me to serve him five pounds of the fajitas I made for dinner. I think that men must have errant DNA leftover from the caveman days telling them that they must consume all edible material within a two mile radius in preparation of famine. Corey is not a big guy, but if I let him he could scarf down enough to feed a Roman Catholic Italian family and then yell from the bedroom, "Babe, do we have anything to eat?"

If any of you watched The Cosby Show growing up you'll know why I always expect to find the middle eaten out of the lasagna and stuffed with paper towels. Luckily, my baby is still an amateur.