It's been a long-held belief in our family that if at all possible one should pre-disaster any important event. Failure to do so can lead to having disaster strike DURING one's event, which is to be avoided at all costs. For example, failing to pre-disaster a beach trip some years ago resulted in a softball being pitched through the rear window of Rhonda the Honda. My sister-in-law and I lost an afternoon of precious beach time having it replaced (which, if you think about it, is disaster heaped upon disaster). The year we broke her car's rear window with an improperly installed bike rack right before we left, we had no such troubles. See?
In yesterday's post I mentioned that Hubby's stomach was acting up. What I didn't mention was that I suspected, by symptoms, that it was going to be a big problem but that he, ostrich-fashion, decided that he really didn't need to go to the ER. Until he had no choice.
Seven last night found us in the fast track. After two brief sentences addressed to the attending physician there (including the phrases: "Recent admission" and "GI bleed") that apparently the triage nurse failed to register, we were sent to the main ED for evaluation. Hubby's lack of fever and vomiting had everybody looking pretty relaxed until the pain hit again and he looked more appropriately ill. (Is it my imagination or do men immediately forget how much it hurt an hour ago? I had to keep telling people that the pain wasn't ALWAYS only a '2'!) The CT scan confirmed what I'd suspected: Appendicitis.
Dammit. I was sincerely hoping it was a kidney stone. You can travel to places like, say, PARIS, with a kidney stone if they give you enough drugs.
I asked the surgeon what the odds were that he'd be able to fly to Paris 36 hours after the surgery. I explained why it wasn't an ordinary trip, taking full and ruthless advantage of the pity the phrase, "Our Babygirl's Make-A-Wish trip" engenders. He said it all depended upon whether or not he could remove it laparascopically. He didn't need to tell me how difficult that would be on someone of Hubby's size.
At 2 AM they wheeled Hubby off to the OR. As he was going in they spotted his wedding ring and made him take it off and give it to me. It was all I could do at that moment to keep from breaking down and sobbing. Oh, God - keep in in Your mighty hands!
One extremely long hour later the surgeon came and told me that the operation had proceeded simply and smoothly. Appendix out through the belly button! Barring infection, he'll be discharged tomorrow morning - plenty of time to pack and load a limo if he feels up to it. The surgeon promised plenty of pain meds for the road. (Playing the pity card may not have had anything to do with it. But I'm thinking he went the extra mile to avoid more complicated surgery.)
So Paris is still a possibility. And kudos to Hubby for being willing to take up the pre-disaster flag.
Thanks for the nighttime prayers from all you night owls!