Honeymoon fail #2
 

On my first honeymoon in 1983 we went camping in Algonquin Park, a big provincial park in mid-Ontario. Lots of lakes, wildlife, bears, etc. We planned to canoe through the start of an extensive lake and portage system and just enjoy the scenery. The first night we were there, two enormous raccoons woke us at 3 am snuffling around the tent. Didn't do much for my bear phobia! They made away with a small amount of leftover chili that we'd carefully stowed high between two trees - the laugh was on them, as the chili, made with a handful of dried chilies instead of chili powder (my bad, I didn't cook back then), was hot enough to kill a bear. Next morning, the rain set in. It rained, and rained, and ... my husband came down with pneumonia. We had to cut our trip short and head for the nearest ER and antibiotics etc. He spent the rest of the week recuperating.

Fast forward, honeymoon #2 ... we go to a beautiful, historic resort. We've arranged for falconry, trap shooting, fly fishing, etc. We have a lovely meal the first night. My husband felt a little unwell in the early evening, wondered about food poisoning ... at 2 am I woke up with agonizing abdominal pain. And then I came down with the worst case of food poisoning. Ever. No details necessary. :greenface

I got through the falconry very shakily next day (no way was I going to miss it, I knew I'd never get another chance). But by evening my meds wore off and, yikes! Another bad night.

The night was interrupted by a phone call from son #3. He was in the ER in Pittsburgh with a probable broken ankle. In the end it was a broken talus, a much more serious injury. He had no one to help him over the weekend and during this coming week while he gets his surgery scheduled.

So we canceled the rest of the activities and drove all day to pick him up, stopping every hour or so for me to barf (I never normally get carsick but this gastro was something else).

Home again, back to work tomorrow .... honeymoon fail #2. :eyebrow:

Damn. Hope your son's okay...

Consistency! Tradition! :comfort:

Tradition indeed! At this rate I must NOT marry again. It could mean instant death.

The good news with my son is that his talus fracture isn't the worst type. Those have almost guaranteed bony necrosis and collapse of the bone that supports the ankle, with predictable disability. My son has a number of bone fragments inside his ankle joint. Not great, but if they're too small to pin, the Orthopod will remove them laparoscopically. The downside is that he'll be left with a disrupted and uneven articular surface in his ankle joint, a guarantee of arthritis.

If the fragments are large enough to pin back in place the Orthopod will do that, but it means a much longer rehab and still no guarantees. He'll probably have early arthritis in that ankle no matter what. Not letting him know that, but that's the prospect. So it's upsetting to his father and me. Just a freak accident, jumped down 4 feet and landed awkwardly. No stupid pranks or alcohol involved - just one of those things that suddenly change our lives.

Third time's a charm?

:p: ;)

With my history, it'd take a brave man to attempt it ...

Judging by the number of divorced couples in this country, it's pretty obvious that America is the land of the free. And considering how many of those people decide to remarry, it's clear that America is also the home of the brave.

Thanks folks, I'll be here all week. Try the wedding cake!

Ha!