We spent the evening in the emergency room with Tim.
Around 7:00 he came running into the house complaining of an unidentified sting. I supplied ice and Benedryl and then watched as Tim's face broke out, his eyelids swelled, and his ears turned red. When his throat became scratchy and he began to cough, it was time to call Dad home from church and head to the hospital.
One shot of epinepherine and a dose of steroids later, Tim was doing fine.
All and all, Tim handled both the sting and the treatment quite well; the hospital gown, however, about undid him.
"It's not a gown; it is a tunic," he quipped, quoting Night at the Museum II.
Whatever you call it, he couldn't get it off his body fast enough. A little too drafty, I suppose.
Episodes like this make me so thankful for first rate, accessible medical care.
This has already been on my mind as we have passed several scorching afternoons playing The Settlers of Catan and The Oregon Trail. You want to be grateful for the little things in life - a hammer, salt pork, immodium? Pack up your Conestoga wagon and head west.
The settlers didn't have epinephrine. I am very grateful that we do.