I had a variety of different titles that I contemplated using for this post:
- And the Wife of the Year Award goes to…
- Wife deserts Husband. Inflammation ensues.
- Oh, my achin’ appendix!
I settled with the current title because it doesn’t make me seem like the bad person that I am. It just took a surgery and hospital stay to make me realize this about myself.
Our story starts on a Monday evening, with the lovely young couple at home watching their routine television shows while being howled at by The Beast.
Steve was mildly complaining of some stomach pain, like he had done the week before. He hadn’t really eaten anything unusual, so these pain were quite intriguing.
Steve: Oh wait. I ate some flax seed. Do you think that’s it?
I googled flax seed side effects.
Rae: Possibly. I bet you’re just backed-up.
We retreated for the evening, only to be awoken at 1:30 AM to increased pain accompanied by Steve emptying the contents of his stomach.
Then, just as we had settled back down, the heaving starts again 30 minutes later.
This pattern continued on until 8:00 AM, when the decision was made that Steve needed to go to urgent care. Trying to drive himself there, I felt like the most sympathetic and helpful wife by offering to drop him off at urgent care on my way to work. There were a few appointments that I had to go to and I’d have someone else cover the rest. I would leave work early to pick him up and he’d have the laptop with him to keep him occupied while he waited. He was just having some minor intestinal issues. It’s not like it was anything serious…
So, I dropped Steve off and hurried off to work. Throughout the next hour, Steve kept me posted on the happenings of urgent care.
“Long wait. Erg”
“IV drip. Ultrasound soon. Maybe catscan. Maybe appendectomy?”
These messages made me a little nervous, but I knew that everything would be okay. It was just the flax seed rearing its ugly head.
During her second to last appointment, I received the most worrisome voicemail I have ever heard:
“Rae. It’s Steve. Um, you need to come get me and take me to the hospital. I need to get my appendix.”
Now I am in high-gear, running around to get everything in order so I can jet out and save my poor, abdominally-enflamed husband. All the while, I can’t stop calling myself a moron.
“You know medical things. Why didn’t you pick on this? And who just drops off their husband at urgent care?!?”
Walking through the clinic and hospital’s emergency department, I couldn’t help but feel all of the nurses glaring at me for deserting Steve in his time of need. (Actually everyone was UBER nice. I really couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to be taking care of Steve, especially sine I was a tad bit absent.)
The ride to the hospital was quick and within and hour, his appendix could do no more damage. The surgeon came out to tell me that everything went really well and that he should be out of recovery in an hour. The nurses would call for me at that time.
An hour goes by.
I play Wheel of Fortune on facebook and update the families on the situation.
Another hour goes by.
Okay, now I’m getting nervous.
I ask the desk what Steve’s up to and if he’s out of recovery yet.
“Oh. Oops. We told that other lady that your husband was out of recovery about an hour ago.” Turns out that there were two Steve’s having surgery on that day. At the same time. The lady at the desk felt really bad about it, but I told her not to worry; I kept myself plenty occupied with buying vowels.
What really got me, though, was that the other Steve’s wife never said anything. My Steve that she went upstairs, walked into his room, said “Oops. Wrong Steve.”, and then went back to sit in the waiting room without trying to find this other Steve’s wife at all.
But I was soon reunited with Steve and we watched TV until I had to go home to let The Beast roam the yard. Just like we would have if we were at home.