Home sick, today. With what, you ask. Let’s just say that if my bowel movements were a baseball player, they’d be Pete Rose, because whenever he gets a walk, he always runs to first base.
So, I’m home, just about to heat up a can of chicken noodle soup (the only food I’d have eaten in the past 30 hours), when the phone rings:
Dad, is there anyone there to come pick me up?
Why? What’s wrong.
I can’t hear anything out of my left ear.
What?!? How come?
I don’t know.
Whattya mean you don’t know? How do you not know?
I might have hit it.
How do you not know? What happened?
I don’t know. I may have back into a tree.
After a few minutes of unsuccessfully Columboing the events of the incident, I said I’d pick him up. Driving to his school, I was wondering how hard it is to learn sign language for the deaf. On the way home, I managed to get these details: his ear feels like it’s full of water or something. He turned around as he walked into a bush, and a twig may have hit his ear. He’s not in any real pain, but every five seconds or so a sharp pain happens. I suspected it could be a damaged ear drum.
As I was incapacitated and establishing a very close diplomatic relationship with our home’s plumbing, my wife took him to the QEH. Four hours later, they come home with the news that he has a perforated ear drum and that he has an appointment with a specialist in Summerside tomorrow.
I’m suspecting that the ear drum will heal itself in time and that he’ll be good as new.