I'm very tired today. Too tired to be creative or come up with pretty words. So I'm going to cut right to the chase.
Thursday afternoon was pretty much like any other day at my house. Until my husband woke up at 4pm and confessed to me that he had some chest pain, and that it had been going on for about a week. But that the previous night at work he had a pretty terrible "episode" which lasted a few minutes and scared both him and the co-worker who was there at the time. The only reason he told me anything at all was that it had gotten to the point where he felt he needed to see a doctor about it and he asked me to call and make an appointment.
Can someone explain to me why men do these things??? Why they think it's perfectly ok to keep their health problems to themselves until it reaches a severe magnitude???
Sorry, the whole "I didn't want to worry you, Honey." just doesn't work for me.
Instead of making him an appointment I questioned him, and then sent him to the ER. I had dinner in the oven and no hope of child care until 7:30pm so it was the best I could do. Honestly, I thought it would probably turn out to be nothing. Maybe it was just a panic attack or heartburn or something really simple. He's only 42. It can't be his heart. Not yet.
Around 7pm he called me to say that he was still in the ER. That they were getting ready to transfer him to his own room because they were going to keep him overnight for observation. He sounded calm, like it was no big deal. And then he casually stated that they thought it might have been a blood clot or a minor heart attack.
So although my neighbor knew what was going on from the start and had generously offered to babysit when she got home from work, I felt like I needed to call in the troops for reinforcement (the troops being my parents). They threw some overnight stuff together and hurried over. All while I ran around throwing a bag together for myself. Once they got here I piled in the car and headed to be with my man.
When I got there he was still in the ER, all hooked up to wires and tubes. He looked ok though, lethargic from the drugs they gave him, but otherwise his normal self. Just being there calmed me.
There really isn't much else exciting to share. We spent a very restless night at the hospital, and the next day they couldn't figure out what was wrong so they sent him home with a no-salt diet and a number for a cardiologist. They did notice an "electrical blockage" for one of his arteries on an EKG, but other than that there was nothing outstanding.
So we're home now. And he's back to not telling me if he's not feeling well.
He's frustrated because they couldn't find what was wrong. He's afraid that it will just be like his shoulder. That it will go on and on with no diagnosis and no answers to the point that he feels people don't believe his pain.
Me? I'm just afraid of loosing him. I knew when I married a man 10 years my senior that it was likely to happen someday, but I'm certainly not ready yet. Although, when is anyone ready for such an event? But I'm REALLY not ready now. I need him. And our girls will need him for at least 20 more years. So although his dad died from a heart attack at 62, that's still 20 years from now. This whole "it's just a little chest pain" scares the living crap outta me. And the fact that he doesn't share how he's feeling scares me even more. I hate it. It pisses me off. It makes me wanna scream at him, except I'm sure that won't make things better in any way.
Hubs: I don't see why you're so worried. If I die you'll instantly become a wealthy woman!
Me: I never wanted to be a wealthy woman. I only wanted you.
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