Did it have to be Friday the 13th?

Lisa awakened me at 6:30 on a Tuesday morning complaining that she couldn't breath and had already been up for two hours fretting about it so she didn't want to wait until 8:30 when the clinic opened. I took her to the ER (at the hospital in Llano, 20 minutes from here). The doctor took a chest x-ray and sent her home with an antibiotic, cough suppressant and an anti-inflammatory. Thursday afternoon I came down with whatever-the-heck-it was so Friday (the 13th) she drove me to the ER (at the VA hospital in Temple, a little over 2 hours from here but substantially more affordable). The VA doctor had my chest x-rayed and sent me home with an antibiotic, cough suppressant and an anti-inflammatory. Neither doctor gave the condition a name but both appeared to have seen it before.

On the way home from Temple an idiot hauling a front end loader on a monstrous trailer pulled across the road in front of us, completely blocking the highway. Lisa, who was driving, managed to come to a full stop without hitting the trailer. The guy behind us was less fortunate. He rear-ended our car. The car is history, that's what the wrecker driver figured anyway. After calling 911 to report the accident we called our daughter Lily and, in relatively short order, our son-in-law, Kirk, arrived and drove us home (Thanks Kirk!).

As of tonight (Sunday) we've both got sore muscles in our necks but are otherwise alive, well and slowly recovering from our respiratory conditions. Tomorrow we'll go to the clinic and have our necks looked at.

It's all well and good to live in interesting times but, honestly, we'd much prefer having the words 'drama' and 'trauma' remain a little more abstract than they've been of late.

Sheesh.