The Cooper family looked like they were in rough shape, but after getting to the hospital, the ER doc checked them out and confirmed it was just mild food poisoning.
Good news—they wouldn't have to deal with stomach pumping or anything that brutal.
After a collective sigh of relief, Meemaw glanced at Mike, who was hanging back. "Mike, come here and let the doc take a look at you too."
In all the chaos, and with Mike acting totally fine, the Coopers had almost forgotten he'd eaten the bad eggs too.
Truth was, Mike's body had already adjusted itself over time and was perfectly okay.
Still, seeing how worried everyone looked, he played along and sat down in front of the doctor.
The ER doc checked Mike's tongue and pupil response, then frowned. "You sure this guy ate the toxic stuff too?"
"Positive. Mike was the first one to figure out something was wrong with the food," Meemaw explained.
The others chimed in to back her up.
"That's weird," the doc said, scratching his head. "In all my years, I've never seen someone with zero signs of poisoning. If anything, he looks healthier than most people."
After a moment, he added cautiously, "If you're still worried, I can take some blood and fluids for a deeper test."
"No thanks," Mike said, shaking his head.
Since Mike was firm about it, nobody pushed him.
Next, the doc had the Coopers drink some saline and prescribed antibiotics.
As the saying goes: sickness hits like a landslide, but recovery's slow as molasses.
Even with the antibiotics making them feel better, the Coopers spent the rest of the weekend laid up at home.
By the next morning, Meemaw was back to her old self.
To thank Mike for his help yesterday, she whipped up a big breakfast spread.
"Mike, drink that milk in front of you—it's good for you," Meemaw said with a smile.
Surprisingly, Meemaw wasn't sipping her usual booze today—she had a big glass of milk too.
Milk's packed with protein, which can block the body from absorbing toxins, giving a slight detox effect.
"Alright," Mike said, swallowing a bite of pancake and chugging the milk.
Checking the time, he said bye to Meemaw and headed out to the Coopers' place.
Since Meemaw wasn't big on driving, Mike had been catching rides to school with George lately.
When he got to the Coopers', the whole family had bounced back from yesterday's food poisoning.
Mary was bustling in the kitchen, packing a lunch for little Sheldon. When she saw Mike, she took a second to ask, "Mike, you eat breakfast yet? Want some fried sausage?"
Back in the day, when Mike was in a rush, he'd sometimes grab breakfast at the Coopers'.
"Nah, I'm good. Already ate," Mike replied, plopping onto the couch like he owned the place.
At the dining table, George had finished his food and was checking his watch, hurrying the three kids to eat.
Little George was digging through the table for salad dressing—he thought Mary's breakfast was too bland.
Missy, meanwhile, was secretly picking bell peppers out of her food. She wasn't a fan of the taste.
As for little Sheldon, he was the least trouble. Knowing they were cutting it close for school, he was scarfing down his sausage as fast as he could.
This chaotic scene was pretty much the Coopers' morning routine.
Suddenly, little Sheldon grabbed his throat, stood up, and looked terrified.
"Shelly, what's wrong?" George asked, not too concerned at first.
But when Sheldon started gasping, his face turning beet red, George realized the kid was choking on a sausage.
Panicking, George flipped Sheldon upside down and started smacking his back.
That rough approach didn't help, though—Sheldon's face just got worse as the blood rushed to his head.
"George, try the Heimlich maneuver!" Mike shouted, seeing how bad Sheldon was struggling and suggesting the right first-aid move.
George got it, set Sheldon down, wrapped his arms around the kid's stomach, and gave gentle thrusts to his back.
Maybe Sheldon was too freaked out, but even after a few tries, the sausage wouldn't budge.
"Little George, get over here!" Mike called out to little George, whose hands were covered in ketchup, as the situation got dire.
It all happened so fast that little George and Missy hadn't even realized how serious things were—they thought Sheldon was just being dramatic again.
Hearing Mike's shout, little George finally noticed Sheldon's face was turning purple. He ran over, nervous. "What do I do?"
Even though little George acted like he couldn't stand his brainy little brother sometimes, deep down, he cared a ton about him.
"Hold Sheldon's head steady," Mike directed.
Little George thought the idea sounded off, but he knew he wasn't as sharp as Mike.
Plus, now wasn't the time to argue.
So without overthinking, he nodded and reached out with his ketchup-covered hands toward Sheldon's cheeks.
The whole thing felt like it took forever, but it was over in a split second.
Sheldon, teetering on the edge of life and death, was still sharp as a tack mentally.
To him, time seemed to stretch out. Watching his brother's gross, ketchup-smeared hands inch closer was pure torture for a germaphobe like him.
And with his sense of time dragging, that torture felt endless.
"No!" Sheldon finally screamed, fighting back just as little George's hands were about to touch him.
With that yell, the sausage lodged in his throat shot out.
Little George instinctively grabbed it. Seeing Sheldon was okay, he cheered, "Hey, I saved your life!"
"No, you need to go wash your hands," Sheldon said, wriggling free from his dad's grip, straightening his bow tie, and throwing a disgusted look at little George's ketchup-covered hands.
Those hands had just made him feel worse than death itself.
"Pfft, it's just ketchup..." Little George, feeling unappreciated, tossed the sausage aside, then deliberately licked some ketchup off his hand, acting all smug. "If Mike hadn't asked, I wouldn't even have bothered with you."
Over on the other side, George, seeing his youngest was fine, collapsed into a chair like he'd run a marathon.
Mary rushed out when she heard the commotion and saw the dining room in total chaos. "What happened here?" she asked, stunned.
"Nothing," George said, catching his breath and brushing off his wife's question. Then he shut down the kids' bickering with a stern tone.
Checking the time again, he ordered, "Hurry up and finish your breakfast—we gotta go."
Little George went back to the table and wolfed down his ketchup-slathered salad in a few bites.
But Sheldon stared at the leftover sausages on the table, terrified. "No way. Those things'll kill me."
Seeing Sheldon being so stubborn, George frowned. "Fine, do what you want—we're leaving."
With that, he motioned for little George and Mike to head out.
[Intelligence +2]
Mike scooped up the orb that dropped from Sheldon, then nudged him. "You coming? You're gonna be late for class."
Gotta say, between the highs, lows, and near-death experience these past couple days, Sheldon had been dropping a ton of Intelligence orbs for Mike.
In a way, if Mike wanted to keep raking in those stats, he'd have to make sure Sheldon stayed in the middle of the action.