I rounded the parking lot for the second time in a row. I didn’t mind the long walk to the back of the hospital where the ER entrance was located but I knew my husband R wouldn’t let me get the car for him after he was released. He would insist on walking to the car.
We are currently in hour 4 of waiting to be seen. I repeat, we are currently in hour 4.
R has experienced a lot of trauma from the accident as well as all of the surgeries proceeding so when he started to experience pain that didn’t go away this morning, he was mildly concerned.
I went to work that afternoon and was waiting for the girls to get out of band when he texted me:
I am going to the ER after I pick up the boy.
I called him and immediately we had the conversation that is constantly on loop:
- Maybe I should go to the ER.
- No, I don’t need to go.
- If I go, you don’t need to come. I can drive myself.
- Wait, the pain is the same.
- Maybe I’ll just wait until tomorrow.
So fast forward lots of phone calls to friends and my mom to cover kid duty including errands, dinner, and bedtime.
We are still here.
I must be getting better at this. As soon as R checked himself in, I made a beeline for the Starbucks in the hospital. In an effort to save money and calories, I have avoided going out for coffee in a couple of weeks. Tonight, I savored every drop of my soy tuxedo.
An hour later, R said he was hungry. I knew my mission: To find the Mexican restaurant we visited last time before they closed and before it got too dark for me to be out all alone.
Turned out, he didn’t want to eat yet. I mean, really, no one wants to eat in an ER!
So here we are. His burrito patiently awaits his return in the car. My nachos, however, are long gone.
And finally, after four long hours, R’s name has been called. I made the mistake of asking if I should go with him.
Of course, I should!
But he scurried off before I could realize my mistake.
Don’t worry. I’ll make my way back there. After all, I’m really good at this.