Three o'clock trauma

Two thirty AM. Some hysterical tomcat wakes me up. Not quite awake, I figured it might be one of the kids, so I wandered past their rooms. Finally realising it was just that cat, I was about to pass out again when I heard Mathias wheezing like an old tub patient. 'What's up?' I said. 'Ouch, ouch..'

I recognised this. False croup. Jakob got it when he was five and spent Christmas in the hospital because of it. We figured we might as
well call for medical assistance.

As you can see, they thought it important enough to come visiting. (No, that's not a misspelling, that's just how 'ambulance' is in Norwegian. Ok?) He didn't have to go anywhere, though, his breathing eased after a few ounces (or whatever they measure it in) of adrenaline and saline water. This also kept him awake most of the hours left till dawn, but nevermind that. He's ok now!

I do pay my taxes happily. Our kids practically have their names carved in the ambulance walls, and I know for a fact that the cost of 4 babies x 3 months in incubators is about the size of a small country's GNP - and we're still not paying any bills...

Incidentally - the grass roof by the ambulance is our garage!