IWSG: A Frightful Visit To The ER

                                     

It's time for another edition of the  Insecure Writer's Support Group. Be sure to visit Alex J. Cavanaugh  and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.

                             

                        A Frightful Visit To The ER

It all began just days after my husband's successful knee replacement surgery. While he was racing around on his walker, I felt like I had just gotten off of a horse. 

Though I hated to bother my out-of-state kidney transplant team on Labor Day weekend, I feared without a medication adjustment, I wouldn't be able to continue to care for my strong and selfless hubby. 

After describing my symptoms, the transplant nurse urged me to head over to the emergency room. 

I told her that I couldn't possibly leave my husband unattended shortly after his surgery, and there was no way of knowing how long the wait would be in the ER. But the nurse apologetically explained that she couldn't prescribe anything without examining me, and didn't want to take any chances since my immune system had already been compromised from a serious intestinal infection last June.

Fortunately, both my considerate brother and devoted son graciously offered to hubby-sit while I drove myself to the ER. Thank goodness for cell phones, as I texted with friends to help pass the time. 

I knew it would be a long wait, but the staff would not let me leave the building to walk around outside. So I did laps inside the hospital until I got reprimanded for walking a short distance from the crowded ER to the empty lobby.

Three hours later, I was placed into an examining room. It took longer for me to change into my hospital gown than it did for the doctor to provide a humiliating diagnosis. 

He tried to ease my embarrassment by explaining that this painful condition resulted from having a compromised immune system along with being a complete nervous wreck. Well, he was two for two, but I couldn't help thinking he was being a bit rash.

Though I attempted to assure the doctor that I like Princess Di was a "woman with a history, but not a past," he quickly left to call my transplant doctor to discuss treatment. 

While I was awaiting the doctor's return, I called Hubby to fill him in, but no one answered. Surely, the poor boy was worried sick about me, so I called my brother to find out what was going on. 

My brother said my husband didn't bring his phone with him on their walk. This was the farthest he had walked since his surgery. 

Apparently while I was on the verge of being branded with the Scarlet Letter, my husband was holding court on a bench outside our apartment building, as some of the neighbors stopped to admire his new knee along with his sheer bravery. I could hear him laughing in the background; clearly having the time of his life.

After waiting almost another hour, the ER doctor returned to announce there was nothing they could do for now, but the pain would subside on its own in a few days. While I was doing the walk of shame out of the ER, I could've sworn one of the technicians winked at me.

During the drive home, a dear friend called to see how I was doing. I told her that it was all a terribly humiliating waste of time, but she didn't seem to believe me. I finally mustered the courage to say my disgraceful diagnosis out loud, as a train thunderously whistled down the tracks.

Then she blurted out, "What do you mean you have burps? And why would you have to change into a hospital gown for that?"

Later when I jokingly asked my husband for a list of partners he's had throughout our 33 year marriage, he replied, "Got a pen?"

Wishing everyone in blogland, a safe and happy Halloween!  In the meantime, please wear your masks in public, and don't forget to get a flu shot!