Eric and I spent a lot of the day in Emergency today.
When he woke this morning, he commented about a little twinge in his chest that had mostly gone before he went to work.
He was back a little after noon because he was too dizzy to climb ladders. Off to the walk-in clinic, who sent us to Emergency.
Three hours later, a doctor pronounced him ‘fine’ and prescribed a B vitamin for being run down.
In that three hours, I aged about fifty years.
I am best at coping. I am good in a crisis. If an emergency arises, I most often pull some kind of miracle out of my ass and The Show Goes Onnnnn! I Do Something. It’s kind of my trademark move.
I am not good at waiting where they won’t let me come in with him and no one is telling me anything and there is nothing but the smell of antiseptic and under that illness and there is nothing for me to do but sit and worry until I notice I am shaking, which is a pretty good indicator that I’m close to shocky but the best thing is not to bug the staff but go out into the sun. but what if Eric comes back and has vital information and I’m not there? If he has to stay in for observation, how fast can I cook dinner and get back so he doesn’t have to eat hospital food, which is subcontracted out to the lowest bidder and what the fuck is in the chili anyway and can I please stop shaking now because I can’t read the article about Golden Age Dating in Senior Living magazine.
He is on the couch beside me now. I’m almost done crying.