|One tough but smart old bird|
Sometimes it is difficult to admit that maybe I was wrong. Okay, most of the time it is difficult but when it comes to being really wrong I will eat my words, apologize and be forever grateful that my loving husband didn't listen to me.
It began Sunday around 10:30 AM after my morning swim. Stepping out of the shower I was suddenly doubled over in pain with the thought of, "What the heck?" I attributed it to the funny way I was standing or some other nonsense I make up to justify an unusual pain.
"Forget about it," I said, "and let's go out to brunch at my favorite cafe place in town." After two bites of my much anticipated out of this world plate of the finest French Toast, I had had enough and watched (in slight dismay) as Rob finishing off my delicacy.
Fast forward an hour later as I am sitting on the couch at home in a fetal position feeling I was again experiencing the worst part of childbirth pain when Rob announced that we are going to the ER--now.
"Oh no, dear", mumbled the tough old bird (me), "let's see if it gets better by tomorrow. Delay the trip and I promise I will go in but not a minute sooner."
|Eating crow today|
Leap ahead a few more minutes (in excruciating pain) and we are on our way to the ER without me grumbling too much about waiting my official time--24 hours--before succumbing to a trip to see a doctor. At one point in my younger years I'm sure my mother said, "If it still hurts tomorrow, I'll take you in."
After seven hours, a CT scan and lots of drugs, the doctor announces a diagnosis--diverticulitis--the colon has rather poopie polyps (I swear that's what she said). Thankful that it hadn't burst or exploded or whatever the next step might have been, the doctor casually mentioned that it was a good thing I came in when I did and didn't wait 24 hours. That hurt almost as much as the gut wrenching pain caused by my disgusting colon and its bacteria filled polyps. Fortunately Rob did not say the customary, "I told you so", but I thought I detected a satisfied grin creeping up on his face. The fact is he was right and I could have been dead wrong; well, not completely dead but miserable with a possible surgery and major complications if we had used my time frame.
As I said before I hate it when I am wrong but will definitely let this one go. A lesson learned that my life saving husband may not have a medical degree but his ability to google a malady--he discovered a wide range of possibilities--and then convinced me to head to the emergency room shows that I am not the only tough old bird in the house.
Now back to my chicken broth liquid diet that makes me gag and may possibly do me in anyway.
Thanks for reading #460 of 7777.