Hostage crisis

Around dinner, Nora's breathing turned stridorous and labored, so we took her to urgent care where the doctor took one listen and sent us to the ER (we suspect this is probably because they were going to close in 30 minutes).

The hospital is really the only place where you pay to be taken hostage. Nora was diagnosed with croup, got some steroids, and chest and neck x-rays (for which she had to be put in this iron maiden contraption which was pretty much the saddest thing I've ever seen) to rule out foreign body obstruction.

Then we waited.

And waited.

An hour later, Tyler asked what we were waiting for. I told him the doc had to read the films and then discharge us. Nora's breathing had slowed and she was sleeping comfortably.

I'm not a squeaky wheel. I thought the doctor was probably busy, or a trauma had come in (which was hinted at by the x-ray tech), and they'd get to us in their own due time. I probably would have waited another hour, trying my best to look pathetic and tired, and giving the nurse a withered look every time she walked by. Tyler is more of a kind to take matters into his own hands, especially if he feels like the situation is lame, or unnecessary. He politely bothered the nurse until she bothered the doc who ran in all in a dither to tell us she didn't have anything stuck in her throat (surprise) and that we could leave.

Time of arrival: 8 PM
Time of discharge: 12:02 AM
Time in bed: 1:00 AM