Late one night last October I came home to find Pete curled up on the bathroom floor. I called my mom to come watch the kids and I drove him into the hospital. The 30 minute drive was one of the longest of my life. Not that it was life-threatening, just that he was so miserable the entire way. Well, that and he was barfing. 30 minutes of close quarters barfing is a lot.
We got to the hospital (Which, incidentally, is just a couple of blocks from our old house. He could have crawled it if we’d still lived there.) and he paused long enough in the parking lot to tell me that if we found out it was nothing, I needed to bring him out and hit him until something broke. He didn’t want my mother to have come to our house at 10:30 for nothing. I assured him that I would be happy to help, but the doctor ended up diagnosing him with a wonky gallbladder.
We spent the next several weeks arguing over when he should have it out. He wanted to wait until he was less busy at work, a state of affairs that I suspect will coincide with his retirement. I thought he should have it out ‘rightthisveryminute’ going with the argument that if he had another attack in the middle of a blizzard in January he’d have to walk to the hospital because we wouldn’t be able to drive down the lane. Very few things have made me feel as isolated in the country (and sort of like I’m living in 1873) like the knowledge that if there’s an emergency in the winter, there is a chance that we would not be able to get ourselves to help or help to us.
In the end, we ended up waiting. Not because either of us really agreed with the other one’s position, but because the doctor that was recommended wasn’t added as an agreed provider to our insurance plan until just recently. Really, it was worth the wait. Today he had the pesky thing out. And he’s already apologized 10 times for not being nicer when I had laproscopy surgery a few years ago. Which makes the whole thing TOTALLY worthwhile in my opinion.
Then there was me. After all my “What if there’s a blizzard and we’re stuck” talk, I ended up with an eye infection in January. It bothered me for a few days, and I didn’t do anything about it. Then a blizzard hit and I couldn’t do anything about it. I finally ventured out to have it checked at Promptcare, only to get halfway there and realize that it was A Very Bad Idea for me to have driven myself. When I finally made it in, the doctor assured me that the eye would be completely better by the next day, or the day after at the latest. The day after my eye was even worse, but our lane looked like this:
There was no way our little car was going to make it down there. So I put off a follow up appointment. Until the next day when the eye was much much worse. I ended up calling my parents to drive me to the eye doctor when I realized there was no realistic way a.) that I was going to get down the lane and b.) even if I could manage the lane, there was no way that I was going to be able to keep both eyes open long enough to make a 30 minute drive to the eye clinic.
Anyway it should be spring soon, and we’re both on our way to better health. Next year I’ll be insisting on full physicals for all of us before the snow flies. Being cooped up is no fun, being cooped up and sick is even worse.