Oh Most Callous Wife!

I'm beginning to believe that the surest way to bring on drama in my life is to make a resolution that I'm going to blog regularly!

Last Thursday night, Dave started complaining about a stomach ache. I love my husband, but he is obsessed with body stasis, meaning that I get to hear about every bodily element not in perfect working order. I'm a woman of variability, so this ongoing discussion about every muscle spasms wears me out. (Seriously, if anyone knows an occupation that requires ongoing, non-stop body scanning to check for any changes...maybe astronaut?....let me know because I married the perfect candidate.) However, since this is only one of two less-than-wonderful elements of his personality, I'm trying to learn to cope with the need to explain to me, in depth, how each system is functioning and where every glimmer of pain resides.

So, I admit, I ignored his report of stomach pain. I offered medical advice and went to bed. I woke up the next morning with no husband in bed. He was on the couch. His first words were, "My stomach hurts." Okay, I responded, it's probably food poisoning. I wished him well and left for work.

At around 11:30, I called to check on him. He had his weak voice, which I hear frequently before the body scan begins. I told him that if he feels badly, he should go to the doctor. Admittedly, I didn't say it very nicely. I was raised that your bodily pain is no one's business but your own and I could feel my mother in my head. She wanted me to say, "Go to bed or go to the doctor but stop bothering me about it. It's your body, take care of it!" My mom is wonderful but not sympathetic in times of minor illness. Still, I managed to compose myself and give him information about our insurance and the available options.

A few minutes later, he called back because his mom wanted to talk to me. She told me that he didn't look good and she wanted him to go to the doctor. I rolled my eyes since this seemed like a lot of hubbub over food poisoning. But I was a good daughter-in-law and told Husband that he should go to the doctor.

At 1:30, I checked in again between work meetings. He was still sounding weak and complaining about having to sit in a doctor's office for an hour. I decided that if he was irritated and not desperate for help, he must be making a big deal out of gas. I wished him luck.

I was sitting in a meeting at 2:30 when my phone vibrated with a message. Dave let me know that he was going to the ER. I texted back, "Do you have a doctor's order? If not, we have to pay 100% so you better be near death before you enter that ER!" I'm sure he felt very loved. He texted back that he had paperwork from the doctor. I warned him not to lose the paperwork and said I'd leave very soon and meet him at the ER. However, for the first time, I felt a little concerned.

That morning, the train I usually take had left 5 minutes early. It had been very frustrating, but I'd made the drive to work. At that moment, I was grateful for God's intervention, since the first afternoon train didn't leave until 4:30 pm. I gathered up my gear, cancelled my meeting, and left for the hospital.

Traffic was miserable. I knew it would be since Fridays are already bad and I needed to drive the most crowded thoroughway in Los Angeles. I crept along, growing more worried as hours passed with no word from Dave. His mom hadn't heard from him, either. I was getting very anxious to arrive and speak personally to the doctors.

Three hours later, I pulled into the emergency room. I entered and found my husband hooked up to an IV. Dave mumbled that he'd had morphine and a heart test. His bloodwork had come back normal except for elevated white blood cells. The initial report from the doctor was that Dave had gastritis but would confirm it with a CT Scan. Inwardly, I grumbled that we were going to be sent from the ER with a prescription for TUMS, which I'd told Dave to take that morning.

Dave left for his abdominal CT Scan around 6:30 pm. I went to find a snack and verify with the insurance that all of this would be covered. The insurance company grumbled until I told them we had paperwork from a doctor and then they grumbled about doctors over-ordering ER visits. But in the end, they said that we'd acted correctly (I hope that's true when the bill needs to be paid).

I returned to the ER in time to meet a doctor sitting at Dave's bedside. The earlier diagnosis was wrong. Dave did not have gastritis. He had appendicitis. The surgeon was already prepping for an urgent procedure, which was to happen at 8:30 that night.

We continued to wait in the ER. We waited and waited and waited. I read a smut novel someone had left behind - it was really lame but all I had. Let me tell you, that protagonist wasted a lot of effort on a chronic cheater who would likely ditch her for a French ballet star after her first child, but since she abandoned her dignity in the pursuit of "true love" I guess she'd chosen to learn about reality the hard way.

Finally, the surgeon came to speak with us around 9:30pm. They'd had a procedure turn difficult so they were seriously delayed and had decided to turn our case over to the fresher night staff. We had no choice in the matter. I went back to talk to our insurance again and authorize the emergency procedure since the doctor did not want him transported to our home hospital. The insurance company grumbled but gave permission (may it still be in effect when the charges process).

Dave went into surgery at 10:30 pm. The surgery was supposed to last 30 minutes, but it was almost 11:00pm before the surgeon came into the waiting room. The appendix had perforated, so they'd had to clean him out. There was quite a bit of leakage, so he was to be a guest at the hospital for some time.

I went home like a dutiful patient that night. By the time I got back to the hospital, I could tell that had been a mistake. The hospital was busy so Dave was getting overlooked. He was upset about the surgery, the drain in his stomach, the IV antibiotics, and generally just by being ill. He wasn't happy that the nurses had a tendency to shout, his roommate was always in the bathroom, and the nurses acted irritated about helping him to walk, which had been an order given by his surgeon. He did not want to be left alone again, ever, during his hospital stay.

We passed a good first day. We walked him every hour as we'd been told. He took his medicines on time and passed all the first day milestones. Then came nighttime. The nurses did not want me there. They wer grumpy and insisted I was making the other patient uncomfortable. I calmly explained that patient rights legislation dictated that patients were not to be kept imprisoned without access to persons carrying power of attorney. As Dave's wife, I had every right to spend the night in the hospital. I was given no accommodation and even yelled at for laying my head on the bed. The next morning, everything got worse. The nurses were convinced I was trouble. We were yelled at for walking too much and then, when we skipped a walk at their urgence, yelled at for not following directions. We were both embarrassed by the loud voices used to give us direction.

Then came my breaking point. Dave's sister had lent us a mini-DVD player so that Dave could watch movies. I plugged it into the wall, since we needed power. A nurse got in my face and yelled that we had broken yet another rule. I asked how we were to know the rules when we had no orientation to the hospital. She huffed, "Well, we told your husband when he was admitted." I laughed outright. I had been standing 50 feet away while she had supposedly told my doped-up husband, 20 minutes after surgery, all the rules of the hospital. I demanded to see the nurse manager at that point, since it was obvious the nurse and I were at an impasse.

Unfortunately, I was so exhausted from two nights of minimal sleep, that all I could do was cry through my conversation with the nurse manager. He promised me a sleeper chair, which, of course, never materialized. I spent another exhausted night on the floor while nurses huffed and yelled at regular intervals. At that point, I decided I hate County hospitals. I was feeling pretty Jekyll & Hyde by the next morning. When Dave needed me, I was all smiles. Then he fell asleep and I snarled my way through the next hour until he was up again. I was so grateful when his parents showed up to relieve me for a few hours. As predicted, I make a terrible caregiver for the infirm. I just don't have the patience.

Dave's fever stayed down all day, so we were pleasantly surprised at 3:30PM by a joyful nurse telling us we should leave immediately with the doctor's blessings. I was a little hurt by the sound of confetti blasts and relieved sobbing as I stepped out the door with Dave, and I was livid that they let us walk out and didn't even give the guy a wheelchair escort and help to the car. I really hated that hospital. I guess the feeling was mutual.

Dave's been home for almost a week now. He's doing better every day. I'm still so tired that I fall asleep randomly if I sit for too long...I'm like a little old man watching golf on TV. It will get better. I know it will. But I'm so completely tired. Maybe if I'm nicer next time he complains, I'll get a blessing to help me through the caregiving!