In breaking news, a common throat infection has updated its LinkedIn title to Brain Rewiring Specialist. Pediatricians confirm it’s been quietly lobbying the amygdala, rearranging furniture in the cortex, and leaving passive-aggressive notes on the hippocampus fridge.

I read the studies until the footnotes filed for workers’ compensation. The consensus: sometimes the body confuses a bacteria for a party crasher and throws such an overzealous bouncer at the door that it starts ID-ing the actual guests—memories, motor control, the last decent bedtime.

Picture your immune system as a smoke alarm that also moonlights as an air horn. It hears a cough, panics, and rewires the house so the toaster turns on the sprinklers and the sprinklers order pizza. There are extra screws everywhere, and somehow the dog can now recite pi.

Parents describe the reality as unbelievable pain and suffering, which is accurate and tragically underfunded as a science grant title. One mom said it was like her kid’s tonsils formed a garage band and started rehearsing next to the decision-making center, in 7/8 time, with maracas.

Naturally, the wellness economy has responded with the measured grace of a trebuchet. Influencers propose throat-focused energy cleansing and a 19-step gargling ritual that appears to summon Poseidon, a Reiki-certified otolaryngologist, or possibly a landlord.

One suggested replacing every lamp with a child-safe humidifier with night light, because if you can’t fix cytokines, at least you can moisturize the vibes. Another hawked a tincture that tastes like if a pine tree had a tax audit, and promised my aura a performance review.

Meanwhile, kids describe the rewiring like a pirate radio station took over the frontal lobe. Times tables become sea shanties, pencils feel like medieval lances, and gym class is a documentary about gravity’s hurt feelings.

Policymakers, sensing a crisis, proposed the Banish Bacteria Act, which funds tiny velvet ropes for tonsils and trains adenoids as nightclub bouncers. The pilot program failed when the uvula started a speakeasy behind the molars.

Teachers, on the front lines, report classrooms that sound like a call center staffed by squirrels. One school tried noise control with kids’ ergonomic study headphones noise cancelling, which worked until the principal put them on and declared, blissfully, that education had never been quieter.

Scientists caution that in a subset of kids, the immune crossfire may trigger behavioral and neurological symptoms with cute acronyms and feral realities. It’s complicated, it’s real, and it belongs in a clinic, not in a comment section framing this as vibes, moon cycles, or artisanal mucus.

The bacteria, for its part, remains humble, citing its mission to expand into light remodeling of the basal ganglia and a pop-up in the cerebellum. A spokesman for the microbe community issued a statement composed entirely of tiny drum solos and an invoice for chaos.

So if your child says their sore throat is rewiring their brain, believe them—and consider installing a hard hat rack beside the cerebrum. Because when your tonsils start freelancing as electricians, they always bill overtime and leave you with two extra screws you’re too afraid to throw away.