The Oxygen Tent

Back when mastodons still roamed the tundra, Marilyn and I lived in Seward Nebraska. I was attempting to attend school at Concordia Teachers College, and we lived in an apartment converted from the part of the second floor of an old house. We had been blessed about a year earlier with the gift of a son.

One day, Marilyn was working in the kitchen, and Bobby was "helping". There was a bottle of spot remover on the table, and Bobby managed to grab it, twist the cap off, and spill it all over his face. It rapidly became obvious that he was not doing well.

We rushed him to the hospital where the diagnosis was chemical pneumonitis, and the treatment was to put the obviously sick little tyke in a crib with an oxygen tent over it. The treatment worked, Bobby recovered (mostly) and we learned to secure the chemicals in our house.

While he was recovering in the plastic covered crib, he exhibited a behavior that in retrospect should have scared the hell out of me. As he began to feel better, he would stand up in the crib, put his face directly in front of the oxygen inlet, and suck in pure 02 until he hyperventilated, got dizzy and fell down. He'd sit on the mattress until his head started to clear and then do it all over again. Who knows, maybe this hastened his recovery.

The reason for relating this tale is to introduce you to another blog. The Legion of Doom has it's own blog, created and managed by my firstborn. Check out The Adventures of the Legion of Doom and you will understand why I said earlier that he had mostly recovered.

Stay warm and laugh often.