Ever get some bad Chinese food? We did….this is from “Notes To My Kids” of couse.
One Saturday when you were little, your mom and I ate Chinese food for lunch at a place where we had dined many times, as did MeeMaw and Granddad Tom. That day, the pork tasted good, but didn’t turn out to be.
After dinner, we started feeling nauseous and started to throw up. So much so that we knew we had food poisoning. We were to the point of being incapacitated. We called Grandmama and Granddad Harry for help.
Your grandparents arrived, and we were ready to go to the hospital. Granddad Harry stayed with you at the house while Grandmama drove us to Harris Hospital. We both had solutions in case we threw up in her car. I had an empty paint bucket, which I hugged tightly as I puked as we sped down I-30 to the emergency room (which we had been to before with you when you had bronchiolitis for a week when you were a year old).
And not too soon, we arrived at the hospital and were taken inside where a doctor examined us. Yes, we had severe food poisoning and were placed in waiting rooms, after being given shots of relief—Demerol injected with the largest and most painful needles ever invented by mankind. The medicine felt cold going in my rear, but soon my stomach was much better.
For some reason, the hospital placed both your mom and me in the same room. I can remember the surprise of one young nurse, who came in to check on us when she saw a man and a woman in the same room. How often does that happen in a hospital? The nurse was certainly shocked until I explained why. We were married, and both had bad pork at our favorite Chinese restaurant (which we never went back to, by the way. No surprise, right?) We certainly were not in the room to engage in some medical ward “hanky-panky”, like I remember seeing on some TV movie when I was a kid. Then the nurse smiled a little, understood, and checked our vital signs. Still, this was not something that happened very often, and the nurses joked with us about that.
Soon enough, we got better and I went home first; your mom had to stay one more night than I did, as she had it worse. When we were back home, we grabbed our stomachs remembering the agony of the pork that made us so sick, but we also grabbed our stomachs laughing about being in the same hospital room together those nights. Indeed, the Chinese food was very bad, and we wanted to forget its dire effects. But the “yin and yang”, (I know, that was bad) of the whole event was something to always remember and grin about.