That's the name of my post and I'm sticking with it!
My husband was too sick to go to work for 2 days. In the past 19 years, I've never known him to take a sick day. He took funeral days, when he had to. We scheduled our wedding in the summer so he would have to take the wedding days he's entitled to. He goes in through wind, rain, and winter storm (yes, I think I'll write a song, and no, he doesn't work for the Post Office).
Yesterday, on his second day out, he calls me in the afternoon and says he can't find Dr. Rubelino's number on his cell phone. [Perhaps that's 'cause that's not his doctor's name!!] I call the doctor who's on his way out the door and can't stay late, and the office recommends we go to the ER. Okay. The ER? How about the Immedicenter? Why, the nurse asks, what's wrong with going to the ER? I said nothing, but I'm not the one with the problem - my husband is, and he just doesn't ever feel like a trip to the ER.
Since they thought, based on his worsening symptoms, that he might be suffering from a kidney stone or a urinary tract infection, she said to tell him that he could go to the Immedicenter but that if what he had needed an ultrasound, they'd send him to the hospital anyway...
Turns out I didn't get an argument. He must have really been hurting!
We went to the hospital. But the driveway to the ER door was blocked for construction; I had to park in the parking lot and we walked to the ER. Well, we almost made it to the ER. As we approached the driveway, Jack looked up and saw the road was blocked and almost shouted, "NOW how do we get in?!?!?!?"
We walk to the other end of the driveway and up the road and to the door. Simple.
We made it to the ambulance drop off and he just veered in and collapsed into a wheelchair.
For those of you who have never met my husband (or his mom, sister or daughter), well, they're regular Energizer Bunnies! They never sit still. For him to sit in a wheelchair, let alone let me push him? Well, THAT'S when I started to get scared.
We went in, suffered our way through triage and into an ER room. They gave him a shot of Toradol, a step below morphine, I understand. He finally relaxed enough to pee into a plastic bottle.
Turns out: Congratulations, it's a bladder infection! NOT a kidney stone, no surgery necessary, no overnight stay necessary...
But it wasn't the flu.
He has a week of antibiotic and some heavy duty Motrin, and has been instructed to go see a urologist. None of which he argued about so he must be feelin' not-so-good.
On the way out the ER door, he thought of a question for the dr: Could I have aggravated it 'cause I hold my bladder rather than go when I think I have to go?
The dr looked at me, looked back at Jack, and said: Mr. Salvetta, when you gotta go, you gotta go!