Emnet had this persistent congestion and the doc prescribed a nebulizer. For those of you who are unfamiliar with nebulizers, it is a small air compressor that delivers air through a surgical tube to a mouthpiece. In the mouthpiece is a small vial of medicine. The compressed air interacts with the medicine to create a fine mist that flows from the mouthpiece and into the lungs and nasal passages of the patient. Emnet was prescribed a treatment in the morning and in the evening.
Now envision this.
It's bedtime. The lights are dimmed. Emnet is in Colleen's lap and Meron is snuggled beside them in the sofa. I am on the other side. The nebulizer emerges from Emnets mouth trailing a thin trail of smoke. She sighs, her eyes roll back for an instant, and she passes mouthpiece to Meron. Meron takes a hit, smiles, and coos. Then Emnet takes another hit. Then tries to pass it to me. I defer, so Ement just cuddles the mouthpiece against her chest like it was a teddy bear. The expressions on their sleepy faces, their slow motion movements, the dim light, and the fact that the mouthpiece looks eerily like a bong had me cracking up.
It looked like a Saturday Night Live skit of a rastafarian potfest.