Downtown Disney hospital does not allow guns or firearms.
It states this quite clearly on the entry way windows, on the dazzlingly clean and shiny glass sliding doors and on a handy little red warning sign in the children’s play area.
Thankfully I had left my semi automatic back at the resort so I didn’t need to worry about accidentally dropping that or a grenade while reaching out to push Addy on the swing.
I assume they have lockers for people’s ammunition and weaponry to be honest, because even though I looked around the grounds of the enormous palm tree ensconced resort/hospital extensively (so much so, that the Irish one grew pissy and admonished me for acting suspiciously, no doubt worrying I was going to get us arrested (again) I didn’t spot any piles of unattended revolvers, rifles or cannon’s lurking about in the undergrowth, much to my disappointment.
It would have made a fantastic photo opportunity after all.
‘And here I am eating a burger (again) holding a rocket launcher, one day before the wedding!’
The hospital did however have a Steve.
Steeeeeeevvveee was our… are you ready for this? He was our hospital concierge.
And he was like bloody Tigger on speed.
‘Hey guys!‘ *bounce bounce bounce* ‘Hey little guy!‘ *bounce bounce bounce* ‘Do you guys need a turrrkey sandwich? *bounce bounce bounce* ‘Hey little guy, are you strugglin to breeeatthhh?’ *bounce bounce bounce* ‘Hows about a cool pop?’
And out he bounced to sort us out god knows what.
I have never felt so unbelievably british in all my life.
How did we end up at the hospital I hear you ask?
A holiday would really not be a holiday without at least one visit to the emergency room now would it?
Addison ate a Nutter Butter precisely 24 hours prior to the I do’s.
A fact that nearly resulted in us divorcing before we even traipsed down the aisle.
I did not know he was allergic to peanuts.
Yes I probably should have thought before I offered him one.
No I will never again give him another peanut as long as we both shall live.
Or think about peanuts in his company.
Or say the word peanut.
(Which incidentally Addison now pronounces Peanup, which sounds ever so much like pre-nup don’t you think? I swear the vicar thought Addy was was nonchalantly chanting ‘No pre-nup! No pre-nup’ during the entire ceremony. But anyway…)
Oh my god my son ate a peanut biscuit and now he is big and red and his lips are swelling and my god please hurry up, please, oh I gave him a peanut, he has had one before, oh please hurry up, he is covered in spots, he is telling me his throat hurts! Oh my god we need an ambulance! Please!
‘Ok m’am where are you?’
The art of animation, three doors down from Dory, just behind Mater and Doc hudson but if you get to Crush and Mr Ray you’ve gone too far! Next to the arm band shop that does the Mickey mouse toffee apples, in front of the castle but behind the big ball!
Meanwhile in the Background my fiancee was busy pacing around the suite acting like a drill sergeant while being ceremoniously unhelpful with the proportioning of blame. In the space of 8 minutes I was told to calm down, get up, look at him, stop crying, grab water, listen to the woman on the phone, answer him, answer the phone, dance a merry dance and cuddle the child, walk around, look out the window, pack a bag, check the child’s back, and tongue, and finally answer the damn door – while he maintained his faux calm pacing of our jolly quarters.
I am awful in a crisis.
He is worse.
It is a sickness.
Luckily I agreed to marry him in both sickness and health.
(Come to think of it, this may be why they don’t allow firearms on Disney property.)
Surprisingly though, given my sketchy directions, they were incredibly quick.
American paramedic walking in the door; ‘Wharts happened heeere?’
Me clinging to Addy like a leech; ‘My son ate a NuTTer Butter! Please help him!’
Amercian paramedic kneeling down beside us; ‘A whart now?’
Me (trying not to notice how hot american paramedic is); ‘A peanut biscuit – a Nutter Butter.’
American paramedic raising his eyebrow and calmly checking Addy’s airway; (Who is now by the way, calmly gazing up through red skin and swollen eyelids at the Mickey Mouse the paramedic brought with him) ‘A biscuit? Like a morning Biscuit?’ (Slightly mimicking my accent.)
Irish one growing increasingly hoppy and frustrated; ‘A Nurder Burder !!! A Nurder Burder!!!(Have you ever heard an Irish man trying to do an American accent?)
Me; Shut up Irish one. A Nudda Budda! A NUDDA BUDDA!!! (My american accent isn’t that much better to be fair.)
American Paramedic; Just staring at us none plussed; (while my son continues to swell beneath us.)
It was like a very badly timed game of charades, thankfully though, eventually we got there.
‘Ohhh a Nurdderr Budder!’
A bloody Nurdderr Budder.
We were taken Downtown in a Disney themed ambulance (disappointingly however the siren was still just a normal siren, I was almost hoping for ‘when you wish upon a star’ but anyway…) and dropped off at Celebration hospital.
Which, ok, is it me, or is that an odd name for a hospital?
I don’t often think ‘Yeay!!! A trip to A and E! Champagne anyone?’
I get why hospitals are called Hope, and Faith… but celebration?
I broke my leg! Woohooo!
Congratulations on your Appendicitis and chronic diahorrea.
We had been there two hours when they advised he would probably need to stay in overnight and I may have mentioned a cancelled wedding, and they may have then given us an option to bring out the big guns (not actual guns obviously, they are all in lockers – I figured this out eventually, like swimming bath lockers but for guns and nunchucks) and then they may have doped him up with so much steroid he behaved like rocky for a week but hey at least we managed to get married… right? And the kid is alive and well?
Oh and three injections, a bit of Benedryl and Steve the turkey sandwich guy cost a snip at only £9000 dollars.
We got married the next day wearing cardboard boxes and now we have to sell our house and live in a tent in the backyard.
I kept my dress.
I *may* have struggled to stay serious…