The day goes like this:
Punk wakes up. He's sick.  I figure he's exhausted, but he's got a 7 hour rehearsal, so we head out.
It's worse by the time we get to the school, so we check in with the director before heading out for a strep test.

The doctor says the rapid test is negative, but and I quote, "HOLY, OH MY, UGH!"  The throat looks hideous, and he should take antibiotics in case the rapid test is wrong.  He'll call us on Monday with the culture.  If the culture is negative, it could be mono.  We leave the office with the reassuring words that, "It's definitely something."


So we load up on juice, and head home.

We are not there for ten minutes, when Kooka comes upstairs.

God knows what is on her face, but it is bad.
Arms too.

So we run back to the doctor.  Same guy sees us. It hasn't been 20 minutes since we left. He checks her out. She has a wheezy cough, little fever. Rapid test is negative, but apparently her body reacts to this virus with hives. He sends her home with Zyrtek, and orders to rest.

Home again, home again jiggedy jig.

I check on Punk, remind him to gargle with salt water.  He does. Comes back up the stairs, mouth covered in blood, saying "I think I am legit spitting up blood."  He is.  Two days ago this would have looked cool - this morning not so much.

I call the doctor again.  He's says to stop gargling.

We have house guests.  I'm afraid to tell them what's in the basement.