No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

So today marks one week since my sister ended up in the emergency room. Every Thursday – glorious, beautiful, wonderful Thursday – I go play volleyball with a bunch of people in the area at a local church’s gymnasium. It’s a lot of fun; there are quite a few experienced, skillful players which makes it all worth it when you get to seriously play hard. Last week, my 14-year-old sister wanted to tag along. She’s on her school’s volleyball team, so sure, why not. Since I’m nocturnal, I’m always among the last to leave the gym. My sister knew this and didn’t mind. So around midnight or so (actually an early night for the lot of us, but we were getting kicked out this week), she and I packed up and headed home. About half-way home though, she mentioned that she was thirsty. Being the amazing sister that I am, I pulled into the Sheetz that we always pass to and from and popped in, snagging her a bottle of flavored water and ordering a MTO soft pretzel with nacho cheese for her dipping pleasure. When I returned to the car, she was delighted to see what I had brought her. She was finished with both before we pulled into the driveway. I unlocked the door and we were both greeted most exuberantly by our little mutt, Max. I went upstairs to take a shower, and she went to bed.

Fast-forward five hours. My dad and I are on our way in to work. He keeps yawning for some reason. “Tired?” I ask.

“Well, yeah, kinda. I mean, I just got home awhile ago from the ER,” he replies nonchalantly. WHA??? How did I miss this? Here, while I was in the shower around 1:00, my poor sister was in my parents’ room barely able to breathe. And from what my dad was able to get out of her on the way there, this wasn’t the first time she’d felt this way – it was just “the worst it’s been yet.” Great. So they took an x-ray of her throat and chest to see if there were any obstructions of any sort. When they showed nothing, the nurse asked her what the last thing she ate was. Go figure: pretzels, I guess, wreak havoc on the lining of one’s esophagus when they scrape their way down and often get lodged in the back of kids’ throats. I suppose that may have been a suitable enough explanation if she were, say, 8 years old? No, this seems a little more complex than crunchy food not being chewed well enough. (Plus, hello? It was a soft pretzel, dufus!) After a few hours, they decided to go home. When we took her to a follow-up at the family’s PCP, though, I heard stranger news.

“He ordered a pulmonary function test?!” I asked.


“Yeah…why?” my mom questioned.


“Well, she said so herself that it wasn’t in her chest. She made it pretty clear that it was her throat. So why in the world would he be running tests for asthma?”

I told my friend this last night after we pulled a girls-night-out at Starbucks after church. She admitted that it seemed odd and commented that at the college she attends, it seems “asthma” is the answer to everything, and that “no lie, you come in with any symptom – be it cold, flu, or GI issues – and they give you an inhaler script.” How retarded is that? They tried “diagnosing” her with asthma when she came in with a fever after she forced herself through her PE class.


Retards…


My prognosis? I think she has panic attacks. At work, I get to see firsthand what a lot of our patients are experiencing, and panic attacks in that age group are quite common. And if you spent two hours with my sister, you’d probably agree that it was a possible solution: on top of being OCD, having several “phobias,” and possessing a constantly intense personality, she had an especially high amount of caffeine that evening.



Anyway, it's just a theory. Could be right, could be wrong. Still, it makes me feel less guilty about the idea of almost killing my sister with a soft pretzel.