Monday, May 4, 2015

Worrying Ways

You’ve seen the comedy sketches where the husband is so worried about his wife going into labor that when the time comes, his wife has to call the doctor, load her bags, and drive him to the hospital. Well, that pretty much describes my husband.

A couple of years ago, I was struggling with an ulcer. My husband has dealt with them as well, so he knew the agony I was going through. He kept giving me tips on how best to deal with the situation, but me being me, I just toughed it out.

In the middle of the night, I woke up feeling awful. I went in the bathroom and sat down. The next thing I knew, I was coming to with my head against the wall and blood everywhere. I had no idea what had happened or why there was blood all over. I woke my husband just as my stomach lurched. I raced to the bathroom and vomited blood.

“It’s your ulcer,” my husband said, running a jerky hand through his hair. “It’s bleeding. We’ve got to get you to the hospital.”

“I’ll be all right,” I said with my usual optimism. (Actually, it’s more like my usual never-want-to-go-to-the-hospital mood.)

“Go get in the car,” he said, struggling and falling down, trying to get his pants on.

“I need to get dressed too.”

“No. Here. Put on your robe.” He tossed it to me.

He rushed me out the door into the darkened garage and left me standing there while he dashed back into the house for the forgotten car keys.

He scurried back out and smacked me with the car door as he hurriedly helped me into the passenger seat.

“I need my purse and planner,” I stated.

He rushed back in the house and out again.

“I’m gonna need something to throw up in.”

Another trip into the house.

“Do you have your wallet?” I asked as he handed me an empty plastic ice cream bucket.

“I’m not gonna worry about that right now.”

We finally got underway. I kept telling him to slow down. The streets were mostly clear. He sneaked through a red light.

“We won’t get there any faster if we get pulled over by the police.” I threw up more blood.

My husband shoved harder on the accelerator and literally spit pieces of fingernail on the car mat.

He left the car door open and rushed me into the ER. The admittance nurse took one look at me and took me right back. A first! I really must have looked bad. Maybe the pajamas helped. I had never gotten away without doing paperwork first.

Several nurses surrounded me, hooking up two IVs, one in each arm. My husband dashed out to move the car and was back before it was humanly possible to even have made it out to the entrance door. The admittance nurse came up and started asking questions. Another nurse started to tube me. With dark circles under his eyes, my husband drew a blank. He couldn’t remember our address or phone number. He kept bouncing from one foot to the other. He reached for his wallet that wasn’t there. No ID. No insurance card.

I opened my purse and pulled out my driver’s license and insurance card and handed them to the nurse, unable to talk. My husband’s gaze flicked around the room, never settling on any one object.  The tube hurt as it went in. I wanted to comfort my husband—tell him I would be all right. But unfortunately, the nurse had put the tube in wrong and temporarily damaged my throat.  It would be weeks before I could talk.

I was admitted into ICU for three days. I’m pretty sure the whole experience was harder on my husband than it was me. Despite my ulcer, he’s the bigger worrier. And when he worries, he gets kinda clumsy and can’t think. Oh, I know it's because he loves me. That's what makes it tolerable.

Believe me, I went through those comedy routines with the birth of our two kids. And, forget asking my husband what the doctor had to say after any medical procedure. He can’t remember a thing, he is so nervous.

I was out of the hospital nine days when I was sitting at my computer writing, and a terrible pain hit me in the lower right side. I was doubled over in agony but didn’t want to call my husband at work. I drove myself to the ER, did all the admittance paperwork, and found out my appendix was leaking and ready to burst.

I really debated hard whether to call my husband, or try to get the whole thing over with before he found out.  

Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!
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