Friday night Saint H went to bed early, saying he was tired. He drives 100 miles round trip every day to work, so by the end of the week he usually is worn out. I didn't think much of it.
Saturday he was up for a bit, then complained of a stomach ache and went back to bed. He stayed there all day, occasionally getting up to try to go to the bathroom, sometimes fevered, sometimes chilled. He eventually ended up pacing the living room in obvious discomfort. Couldn't I call the hospital? Oh, no, he just had a stomach ache. Was he sure
that I shouldn't call the hospital? Upon reflection, he decided that I could. He hadn't eaten since noon, and the pain was centralized and steady.
Fortunately our doctor, Dr MC, was on call. After talking with me and with Saint H, his verdict was, "Get to the ER. This could be diverticulitis
or worse." So, off we went. Saint H told the nurse that his pain was, oh, maybe a 2 on a scale of 10. I told her not to believe him; she said, "You are obviously in pain. I'd rate it between a 6 and an 8" and went off to get pain meds.
After a couple of hours and an x-ray, he was set for a C/T scan. We are, of course, familiar with the 2-hour ritual of taking the internal contrast; he tried to get me to go home. I told him I might as well stay to find out what was going on, right? (Gosh, he doesn't like Readi-Cat any more than I do! What a shock.)
When the results came in, the ER doc came in and announced, "You have appendicitis. We're admitting you." Saint H responded, "You're kidding. Right?" "Nope. It's very inflamed. We'll be getting you in to surgery as soon as we can."
By this time it was about 3:00 Sunday morning. He tried to get me to go home again. I told him I was going to stay until he went to surgery and returned to his room. At noon, he was on his way to the operating room. He was back in his room by 2:30 or so, and I went home for a nap. I got to bring him home Monday afternoon, with his 3 little incisions from the laparoscopy (in face of my 14" scar and my 8" scar, I find that pretty annoying).
Funny, all these times that I've been in the hospital I've tried to get him to go home, and he's stayed in spite of me. I've told him how frustrating it is to know that he's uncomfortably perched in a chair watching me sleep, but I know he didn't understand until now.
God knows I now understand that compulsion to stay, to watch him sleep and heal. I could not live without him.
Labels: friends/family, hospitalization