For the past month and a half, my dear husband has had this problem where he suddenly becomes unable to breathe. If you have ever been going about your business and found yourself devoid of oxygen, you know just how frightening the experience can be. Understandably, Jason didn't waste much time getting to medical after just a couple of these panic-inducing episodes.
They sent him home with a tranquilizer. Because the solution to having trouble breathing is to be unconscious? Um...
A week or so later he went to medical again after another episode. They sent him home with cough syrup. Never mind that he wasn't coughing.
After another series of episodes and a third trip to medical, they finally decided that the blame lies with all of the nasty factory farm pollution from the dairies in our area and the smog that drifts up from Los Angeles and gets caught in the San Joaquin valley. The air here literally makes people sick.
Jason came home yesterday afternoon with a rescue inhaler. Finally!
He also came home with puffy cheeks and a collection of pills that rivals the contraband bin at the Celebrity Rehab clinic.
Cue the question marks floating above my head!
It turns out that he also had the pleasure of having very short notice dental surgery yesterday morning--a bone grafting procedure that had been scheduled for July. Rather than have to reschedule for another date, he sucked it up and went through with it on the spot.
Because he had his wisdom teeth out in his twenties (at boot camp, no less) rather than in his teens, the bone in his jaw didn't regenerate itself as it would have at a younger age. So they sliced open each little area behind his molars, dropped in some bone bits probably harvested from somebody's corpse (ew), and sewed him back up.
He'll be home recuperating for the rest of the week, SIQ--sick in quarters--with nurse Heidi to attend to his every need.