Nothing bad happened last Friday, I'll start with that. It's all good. Great. Terrific.
Really.
Several weeks ago, our friends learned the date of their baby's heart procedure. It was set for Friday, April 13th. They asked us if their older son could sleep over the night before, and then we would take him to school the next day, because baby heart surgeries start early. We happily agreed, and I was thinking up some fun stuff we could do.
Then I remembered - that would be the morning I was to proctor the engineering exam at Cal Expo, and engineering proctoring jobs start early. Our friends found out and made other plans, because we all needed a good night's sleep.
The day of the exam had my mind split between the duties of a proctor and the worries of a friend. As we processed the test takers and got the exam under way, my mind was at that hospital, hoping everything went well. During the four hour morning exam, I found myself taking a lot of "bathroom breaks" to go check my phone for baby updates. A hilarious video of the cutie pie on happy juice before the surgery had me laughing in the break room, all looked good so far.
A few more "bathroom breaks" brought no news. Then my phone rang, it was our friend Jason. Had I heard from Ernst? No, I hadn't, but the concern in his voice had me immediately worried. He calmly broke the news that my husband had passed out in the salon chair while getting his hair cut (Jason's mom Lynn cuts Ernst's hair.) At this point all I heard were the words 911, regained consciousnesses, ambulance, EMTs, hospital, and that Jason was headed down from Yuba City. They didn't know which hospital, but I was 99% sure it was Kaiser Morse, the one that's right by our house.
In swift, highly efficient, yet hand-shaking, voice-trembling actions, I told the director of the exam the situation, went back to the proctoring room to tell my supervisor, grabbed my purse and coffee mug and sweater and water bottle and ice chest and all the other things one brings to a 12-hour job and walked out to my car. One of the proctor directors kindly walked me to my vehicle, offering to drive me to the hospital. No, I would be fine, I wanted to be alone.
I was incredibly worried, and had a sinking feeling this was really bad. Really. Bad. All the other hospital visits and emergencies had been bad, but he had never passed out during them. I felt like Jason might be holding back information that only could be found out at the hospital, that this was more life-changing than all the other times.
I drove quickly, efficiently, mostly legally and only yelled at a few drivers, who admittedly cannot know that their choice to go the speed limit was compromising my last bit of sanity. Pretty much the whole way, which was maybe just 10-12 minutes, I chanted Please No, Please No, Please No. Halfway there, I was resigned to face whatever I had to face. I was fairly calm, and except for those annoying law-abiding drivers I was stuck behind, I arrived in pretty good shape.
Things changed when I got to the parking lot. No parking. I had just been there the day before for a hearing test, and walked over because the parking is so bad. I looked near the ER, nothing. I went a little further, nothing. So I went to the farthest lot from the ER and took a tight spot I would normally pass up. I walked as fast as I could in my proctoring shoes, which are made for walking not running, and tried to stay positive.
Then I saw it. A young man with his pants magically hovering below his derriere, with only a thin layer of cotton/poly underwear between him and the outside world. Normally this form of attire just puzzles me greatly, and makes me wonder about the future hip problems this fashion statement is creating, as these men/boys walk with their legs splayed out to keep their pants just at the perfect level right below their rearend cheeks. But something happens when my husband is having a health crisis, and although outwardly I may appear calm to the hospital staff, inwardly I am ready to bite the head off of anyone I see smoking or chowing down a bag of Cheese Doodles with Mountain Dew. Because I know how hard we try to be healthy, and sometimes it just doesn't seem fair at all.
Anyway, Mr. Droopy Drawers got my blood boiling. What I wanted to do was go behind him, grab his belt loops, yank his pants up where they belong and say "That's how REAL men wear pants." But besides the fact that civilized people don't go around rearranging the clothing on strangers, he most likely had his own sad story to tell of who he was going to visit. He didn't need the fashion police making a citizen's arrest.
Then I had to pass through the Kaiser Friday Morning Farmers Market. the one I never go to because the parking situation is so bad. Table after table of organic and healthy produce, normally something I would be salivating over. But instead of showing the kale some love, I was still in a sad/scared/shocked/slightly numb state of mind, and I wanted to scream "Fat lot of good all these vegetables did us, my husband just collapsed!" Just as I didn't pull up the pants of Mr. DD, I didn't yell at the fruit vendors. I guess I did have a shred of self-control left in me; I'm thanking the green smoothie I had that morning.
Finally I ran/walked my way to the ER and got the room number and name sticker, which I slapped on over my proctoring name sticker. Bed #13, how appropriate. I made my way through the sadness and sickness that is a busy emergency room, and reached the large area where Ernst was. He was sitting up in the bed, looking good, looking healthy, smiling when he saw me, saying "They weren't supposed to tell you." He was fine, a bit dehydrated, with very low blood pressure, but completely fine. I mentally apologized to the slow drivers, the man with his underwear showing and the good people at the farmers market.
It turns out he passed out, badly, in the salon chair for an unknown reason, and his blood pressure dropped a lot. In the ambulance when he was already feeling better it measured 78/60, which for him is incredibly low. His EKG was great, no stroke symptoms, everything checked out fine. It could have been a medication issue, that he was slightly dehydrated, and his sodium was on the low side. He will see his cardiologist for a follow up visit, but they said just go home and take it easy and all is good.
We got some encouraging visits from a few friends in the ER, which always warms the heart. And the news on the baby front? It was all good — our friends' little guy came through his heart surgery like a champ. It was a lovely day, Ernst got released from the ER and now what? Finish the day, that's what. He went back to get the rest of his hair cut, and I drove back to the engineering exam, following all traffic laws, smiling and waving to all the rule-abiding drivers. Not our typical Friday, but it all turned out and we'll take it.
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| Jason! Bed #13! |
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| Real men, wearing pants. |
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| Hairstylist, 911 Caller. Friend. |
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| My 12 hour work day, with just a slight interruption. |
