But instead, I'm doing this:
Yes, there is something wrong with this picture. And no, that is not me in the hospital gown. Note to my children: The next time I spend the night in the hospital, I want to be the one in the bed. I really do prefer it that way.
This turn of events started on Monday evening. Daniel was in stomach agony when he arrived home from work. As any parent knows, there are plenty of times that you have to go with your gut when it comes to kids and illnesses. There are three basic options when they come to you with a complaint. You can tell them to toughen up and ignore it. (Without really letting on that that's your plan of course. "Oh I'm so sorry your tummy hurts. I bet you just need some rest. Why don't you go lie down? wink wink") Or you can turn to the medicine cabinet and start playing Doctor Mom with whatever drugs you happen to have on hand. Or you can load up the car and head to the doctor.
Normally I start with method one, go to number two if the complaints continue, and only move on to option three as an absolute last resort. But lately my gut instinct has been a little out of whack. I won't embarrass myself or my children by listing the minor issues that have sent me to the emergency room in the last year. Let's just say that they probably roll their eyes when they see me coming. My recent brush with the dramatic has made every little bump and lump seem like a good reason to panic.
So I didn't hesitate to tell Daniel to get into the car when he came upstairs pale, sweating, and in extreme pain. It wasn't until I was sitting in a dark parking lot so he could throw up into a bush that it occurred to me that once again I'd skipped right over steps one and two and headed straight to step three. I hadn't even offered him some of that amazing Earl Grey Tea that had done wonders with my nausea during chemo. But when he climbed back into the car, slightly green and moaning, I doubted if he'd be pleased with the idea of going back home for some tea. So we forged ahead. To heck with medical bills. And sleep.
Well it turns out (several hours into the night later) that it was his pancreas. Pancreatitis. Who would have thought?
For the record, I am totally patting myself on the back for making that emergency room call. Apparently the pancreas is a really important organ. And it hurts really bad when it's inflamed, which happens (very rarely) when a gall stone travels in a totally wrong direction and blocks it. But the good news is that he's out of surgery and doing great. The doc expects a full recovery. So tomorrow we can get back to normal things like my big last-day-of-chemo celebration.