Sam loves this Frank Zappa song that goes, "Let me take you to the Beach! La la la la la la la la lalala!" It's kind of silly, with high-pitched voices like the Beach Boys, but the actual music is complicated and rich--sort of what Zappa does. Sam used to sing it to me when we were dating. We had my brother put it in our wedding video, which caused him to ask, "You do know this is your WEDDING video, right?"
Anyway, I'm thinking of that song, substituting ER with beach.
Again with the emergency room for us.
Here's what Sam said about his tummy ache last night: "the intestines felt a bit like one of Santa's little helpers was in there, trying to scrape his way out with a razor blade." Fun, no? We called primary care, they told us to go in. So in we went. Poor man. I wonder if we'll just get used to taking him in on a quarterly basis, for one reason or another.
This quarterly visit was a breeze ... sort of. (Now that I said that I'm remembering Sam threw up in the waiting area men's room, and all the other unpleasant stuff he had to do, so maybe I just mean I wasn't as panicked as I'm wont to be.) They gave him anti-nausea stuff, painkillers that got rid of the tummy ache AND the migraine he's had for two weeks running. I sat nearby (except for when they did unpleasant things to him.), reading Richard Bausch stories, saying nice wifey stuff to him.
The truth is, I sort of like going to the ER with Sam. Whatever thing we're worried about, it doesn't matter. I'm just doing this thing for him, driving him to a place where they help. The only option for my attitude is compassion, and he's funny as a flamingo when he's at the hospital. We sit in a room with nothing interesting in it besides each other and we talk, make eye contact. Sometimes he sees double, and then he makes eye contact with both of us.
We went the ER around 11pm, and around 3:30 they made him drink "contrast"--this stuff they mix in fruit punch. He said it was like drinking fruit punch mixed with vinegar. Mmmmm. I went home and slept while this substance snaked through his system, then they gave him a CT scan, said they saw nothing wrong, and sent him home. This is how it goes: they do their best but find nothing really wrong. I'm afraid for the day that's not how it goes, when there is something wrong, when they keep him.
Anyway, on a non-morbid note, we ate breakfast at this lovely little place in Watertown. We got home at 9 in the morning, neither of us having slept more than a few hours. I emailed my students to tell them no class, called the department to tell them uh-uh, then crashed. I woke up at 3 in the afternoon. Looking in the mirror, I understand what people mean when they say their eyes are "puffy." It's like the egdes of my eyes are poking outwards. I am so cute.