My wife has a hell of a tolerance for pain.  She has had four children, experienced both natural and cesarean childbirth, and been through trials and tribulations that I will not mention here.  She also bears an intense fear of and hatred for hospitals. If she can avoid going, she will, with the noteworthy exception of her children.  For them, she will do anything.

I had been home from the hospital for about a week when she called me at work. She’d been having stomach cramps for much of the day, and they were increasing in both frequency and intensity. She asked me to come home early, and I obliged. I made it home to find her pale, in pain, and surrounded by two of her good friends.  She looked at me, tears in her eyes, and said, “It really hurts, baby. I think I need to go in.” Her friends immediately offered to watch the kids, we each grabbed something to distract ourselves in the waiting room, and we were on our way back to McLaren.

It was a night-and-day experience next to my trip in.  We sat in the waiting room for four hours while her cramping got worse and worse.  “Breathe, baby, breathe,” became my mantra. We saw the waiting room fill and fill while we heard announcement after announcement for incoming ambulances. We had thought that the line in front of us was long, but it didn’t hold a candle to those that arrived after. Eventually, finally, they took us to a bed in the emergency department.

Blood work showed nothing. X-rays of her digestive system showed nothing. An ultrasound of her gallbladder had doctors arguing over whether or not there were stones, let alone how many and how large. All kinds of frustration was had. Nikki flowed in and out of drugged dozing, which was a relief. Though the IV drugs had hit her like a mule kick to the chest, they took the edge off enough for her to relax. Not enough for her to fall asleep, but this was definitely better than nothing. Six hours and one trip to Fleetwood later, they found a room for her. On the oncology floor.

I had already let my boss know that I wasn’t coming in to work the next day, but I needed to go home and relieve our friend, and be there for the kids when they woke up the next morning. So, I helped tuck Nikki into bed, went home to discover how hard this was on our oldest, and sent our kid-sitter home to her husband and daughter.

To be continued…