Our Latest ER Visit
Well, this morning Doug woke me up.
"Babe."
"Baby."
"Babe."
"Blaine."
"Blaine...Blaine!"
"Whuhh?"
"I think I have to go to the hospital."
"I'm up!"
For the past couple of days, Doug hasn't been feeling so hot. He had a low-grade fever, felt really punky and exhausted. He had pain that started in the belly button and then moved around his right side to his back. At this point - 5:25am - he hadn't eaten or wanted to eat since 3:00pm last afternoon. He had woken up a little earlier from pain (which never happens, especially when sleep is so precious at this point) and researched up his symptoms. What would you think? Appendicitis or kidney stones, right? So you'd go to the hospital too?
While I got up and started moving around the house, Doug shuffled off to the ER. We had agreed that I would get Oliver off to daycare and head to work unless he asked me otherwise. Just before Ollie and I left, Doug texted me - they were sending him to a CT scan as he was borderline between those two diagnoses and can I come? I grabbed my laptop and handpump, dropped off Ollie, emailed work and a friend to possibly pick up Ollie this afternoon and met Doug in the ER.
7 hours later, we had his results and the typical pissed-off dispositions. The CT scan didn't show any abnormalities, blood test and other tests were clear, so the doctor came up with "enteritis:" Inflammation of the intestine.
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0002134/
Or, as we called it: "Made-Up Itis," because the doctor didn't seem too confident. The doctor, the Vice Chairman of the hospital (or at least the ER), was a silly man who liked to keep us waiting and act like he was our buddy. I had to leave Doug in order to chase him down multiple times. The first time he came in to say that he didn't know why the results from his blood test were taking so long (3 hours) and that he would wait a little bit longer and then go and "beat up" the lab guys. An hour and 15 minutes later, I came out of Doug's stall and found him talking to a group of short-coats. He saw me and went, "I'm going to get the results right now." Great.
He came in about 20 minutes later, told us that everything was fine and that there wasn't anything he could do so he'll go get the discharge papers. Smirk/fake apologetic smile: "Sorry!"
Hold up for a second - isn't the ER one's last resort? When you feel horrible enough to endure an uncomfortable bed, rude, ignoring nurses and a breezy, thin gown that never quite covers all your bits in a sea of death-smelling, spudem-coughing, vomitous complainers who listen to Steve Wilkos a little too loudly...for hours...don't you expect to feel better when you leave? If not immediately, soon? And he was telling us there was nothing he could do. Take aspirin, he says.
Now, I do understand doctors and our health. I realize that sometimes one has to grin and bear it for a few more days until something goes away on its own. And I do appreciate that the Lord answered our prayers - thank goodness it wasn't something severe. However, is it too much to ask for a doctor to have a bit of empathy and not be a world-class douche?
45 minutes later, I flagged him down for the discharge papers. He kept giggling about his lack of good penmanship, "I'm a doctor, what can I say, heh heh heh.." Argh. Just sign it already so we can leave. This is also how he told Doug how to feel better:
Doug: "Bland diet?"
Doc: "Bland diet. "
Doug: "Drink water?"
Doc: "Drink water. Aspirin."
Anyway...we got home, Doug took a nap and ate some soup. I did some work and picked up Oliver. Now O is bathed and asleep and Doug is watching the baseball game heat-padding it up with a glass of Sprite. He still feels crummy.
I'm so grateful that this wasn't anything crazy. But I think we're both ready for our constant health vigilance to subside for a bit. I'm just coming off of pink eye, sore throat-flu, surgery and O is coming off of croup, teething, cold, cold, teething. We're ready for a good stretch of health for all.
It's been a hell of a couple months. Here's to us crossing our fingers for the weekend!
I totally just jinxed us, didn't I.
"Babe."
"Baby."
"Babe."
"Blaine."
"Blaine...Blaine!"
"Whuhh?"
"I think I have to go to the hospital."
"I'm up!"
For the past couple of days, Doug hasn't been feeling so hot. He had a low-grade fever, felt really punky and exhausted. He had pain that started in the belly button and then moved around his right side to his back. At this point - 5:25am - he hadn't eaten or wanted to eat since 3:00pm last afternoon. He had woken up a little earlier from pain (which never happens, especially when sleep is so precious at this point) and researched up his symptoms. What would you think? Appendicitis or kidney stones, right? So you'd go to the hospital too?
While I got up and started moving around the house, Doug shuffled off to the ER. We had agreed that I would get Oliver off to daycare and head to work unless he asked me otherwise. Just before Ollie and I left, Doug texted me - they were sending him to a CT scan as he was borderline between those two diagnoses and can I come? I grabbed my laptop and handpump, dropped off Ollie, emailed work and a friend to possibly pick up Ollie this afternoon and met Doug in the ER.
7 hours later, we had his results and the typical pissed-off dispositions. The CT scan didn't show any abnormalities, blood test and other tests were clear, so the doctor came up with "enteritis:" Inflammation of the intestine.
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0002134/
Or, as we called it: "Made-Up Itis," because the doctor didn't seem too confident. The doctor, the Vice Chairman of the hospital (or at least the ER), was a silly man who liked to keep us waiting and act like he was our buddy. I had to leave Doug in order to chase him down multiple times. The first time he came in to say that he didn't know why the results from his blood test were taking so long (3 hours) and that he would wait a little bit longer and then go and "beat up" the lab guys. An hour and 15 minutes later, I came out of Doug's stall and found him talking to a group of short-coats. He saw me and went, "I'm going to get the results right now." Great.
He came in about 20 minutes later, told us that everything was fine and that there wasn't anything he could do so he'll go get the discharge papers. Smirk/fake apologetic smile: "Sorry!"
Hold up for a second - isn't the ER one's last resort? When you feel horrible enough to endure an uncomfortable bed, rude, ignoring nurses and a breezy, thin gown that never quite covers all your bits in a sea of death-smelling, spudem-coughing, vomitous complainers who listen to Steve Wilkos a little too loudly...for hours...don't you expect to feel better when you leave? If not immediately, soon? And he was telling us there was nothing he could do. Take aspirin, he says.
Now, I do understand doctors and our health. I realize that sometimes one has to grin and bear it for a few more days until something goes away on its own. And I do appreciate that the Lord answered our prayers - thank goodness it wasn't something severe. However, is it too much to ask for a doctor to have a bit of empathy and not be a world-class douche?
45 minutes later, I flagged him down for the discharge papers. He kept giggling about his lack of good penmanship, "I'm a doctor, what can I say, heh heh heh.." Argh. Just sign it already so we can leave. This is also how he told Doug how to feel better:
Doug: "Bland diet?"
Doc: "Bland diet. "
Doug: "Drink water?"
Doc: "Drink water. Aspirin."
Anyway...we got home, Doug took a nap and ate some soup. I did some work and picked up Oliver. Now O is bathed and asleep and Doug is watching the baseball game heat-padding it up with a glass of Sprite. He still feels crummy.
I'm so grateful that this wasn't anything crazy. But I think we're both ready for our constant health vigilance to subside for a bit. I'm just coming off of pink eye, sore throat-flu, surgery and O is coming off of croup, teething, cold, cold, teething. We're ready for a good stretch of health for all.
It's been a hell of a couple months. Here's to us crossing our fingers for the weekend!
I totally just jinxed us, didn't I.
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