Some birthday surprises are so sweet, so wonderful, they are the cake and the candles all in one. Like my reefing friends letting me know they ordered a new bluetooth for me, to replace the one Little Dumb Dog ate.
Some birthday surprises are more like the dirty plate that was tucked behind the couch and forgotten, discovered after the residual icing has hardened, with a fuzzy layer of mold connecting it to a cushion. Husband gave me a perfect card this morning, beautiful and encouraging without being sappy, funny comments that make sense to us penned in. Then he told me he was having chest pains, radiating down his left arm with intermittent lightheadedness thrown in.
For the record, I will be voting for the New York politician who declares parade paths that block the way to several major hospitals are henceforth banned and illegal.
So, Mrs Fringe spent her 40,001st birthday in the emergency room with Husband. He’s still there, being admitted; I had to come home to take care of Flower Child, who had been left with my in-laws. Damn these laws of science, that don’t allow me to literally be in two places at once.
I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on tv, but I have a lot of experience sitting in ERs, ICUs, CICUs, PICUs, and EMUs. So, based on prior experiences, preliminary tests, symptoms, medical history, conversation with the ER doc, and hours spent watching House, I predict a cardiac catheterization and subsequent stent (angioplasty), followed by amazing recovery. Have I ever mentioned Husband’s lineage traces directly to Superman? It’s true, both Husband and Father-In-Law are walking miracles. Truth, even the surgeons say so, and most surgeons I’ve come across are happy to take credit for the Resurrection.
This sucks. Could be much worse, but it still sucks. I HATED leaving Husband by himself. Doctors and hospitals are often wonderful and appreciated. I’m as comfortable in them as a non-medical professional can be(provided I’m not the patient). I can even tell you which roach coaches parked in front have the best coffee for several of the “biggest” hospitals. But they’re still scary.
Life happens. Every day, good and bad, life happens. If you’ve become a Fringie follower, lurker, or even stumbled across this while googling how to trim the fringe on the blanket you’ve been crocheting, feel free to join me in sending some good thoughts into the universe for Husband, a prayer, and maybe, once Flower Child is in bed and I’m drinking my fiftieth cup of tea, a heartfelt “FUCK!”