Last week I went back to work. I still wasn't fully over my cough, but I soldiered on anyway.
But on Wednesday, I had a coughing fit...that scared my colleagues. I felt it coming on, and I went into the nearest bathroom. I let it fly, hacking away, it was awful, and awfully loud. Loud enough to bring the supervisors out of their meeting down the hall. Scary enough that as I was cleaning up afterwards, wiping my eyes and such, the bathroom door opened. Hey, I locked that...I thought. There stood two of my friends, water glass in hand, concern etched on their faces. Shoot. If someone is breaking down my bathroom door, I'd hope it'd be firemen. (Not that the two ladies were unwelcome, I'm just sayin'.) I assured them I was okay, but I was a little freaked out--as I hacked, I had a point where the spasm was so hard, I couldn't get air. Not good. (My doctor's office agreed and called in some more meds for me, and as of Friday, I was much better. I'm fine now.)
That night, I was just getting to bed after falling asleep in the living room when I heard Nolan start coughing. He was fighting what we'd had and I knew he'd taken Nyquil earlier in the evening. Sigh. I went and got him a dose of my magic cough syrup (w/ codeine). I dialed it back a notch as he is smaller; I woke him up and gave it to him in bed with a little water. I toddled back over to my bed, and promptly was out. I didn't hear him cough again.
The next morning, Mr W was getting ready for work. As he sat down on the bed to put on is socks, he said: "You might have trouble waking up Nolan today. He was coughing really bad last night, so I gave him some of your cough syrup." My eyebrows shot up to my hairline. "Um, when?" I asked nervously. "Around 12:30 or so." "No way," I said. "I gave him some too." "When?" "Around 12:15 or so." We looked at each other, horrified, giggling, and I said, "He's probably dead." I walked across the hall, and stuck my hand under the covers so I could feel him breathing. He stirred. Mr W and I looked at each other, "Well, he's not waking up....until next Tuesday." I said. Later that morning, I called to see if he was awake, as Mr W was coming home from work to take him to the pediatrician's office. For the cough. Not the overdose.
"Why didn't you tell your Dad I'd given you cough medicine already?" I asked.
"I didn't remember you doing it," Nolan said.
I decided to skip the stories about how being under the influence can make you forget what really happened. I explained to him our mistake.
I'm sure that will come up again during the deposition.