ann_leckie | Well, that was an interesting day

So Monday evening, Mr. Cameron tells me that his stomach is bothering him, has been since Sunday night and he thinks the Tilapia filets we had for supper were bad. But no one else in the family is sick. Off I go to singing. I get home, and he says, "My stomach is really hurting." I'm still thinking upset, here, and recommend a few home-remedy type things. "If it's still bothering you in the morning," I say, "you must let me know." He hasn't been to a doctor since we met, besides the dentist, and that out of neccesity. No amount of talk has been able to convince him to go for a checkup.

Tuesday morning at 6am he woke me up to tell me he was still hurting and maybe he should go to the doctor. After a few questions, I said, "Screw the doctor, we're going to the ER, she'd just send us there anyway." Among numerous other factors, it was 6am, the doctor's office wouldn't open until 8, but we could go to the ER right then and if he wasn't putting up any protest over the idea of the doctor visit, things were pretty miserable on his end, so why make him wait the extra hours?

So I packed up the kids and grabbed the going out bag (paper, crayons, scissors, etc), and off we went. After the usual interminable wait, a CT scan was performed, and we learned that Mr. Cameron has a 2cm gallstone. The gallbladder in question is extremely unhappy about the situation. Nothing else seems to be wrong, which is a relief. Mr. Cameron is going to be admitted, and that puppy is coming out, maybe that day, maybe the next.

Just as we learn this, I have to rush off to pick up my mom from her chemo treatment (someone else was scheduled to get her there). So we get her home, and I call Mr. Cameron. He's still sitting in the ER, napping. Does he want me to bring him anything to read? No, he hasn't been able to sleep for two nights (!) and just wants to rest. Take the kids to the pool for a few hours and then check back.

Mr. Cameron's mother wasn't home, so I left a message. We did go to the pool for a bit (the Paidhi Kids deserved it--they were very good in the morning, and it's not easy sitting around the ER for hours). Then Grandma got home, so I dropped them off and went to the hospital with a handful of semi-random paperwork off Mr. Cameron's desk. We still didn't know when the surgery might be going down.

By the time I got there he'd been admitted. He was on the phone with the catering manager of the banquet hall where he does a lot of DJ gigs--sorry, can't cover this weekend! But he doesn't know exactly which weddings those were, or what music etc. they had requested, the papers are all on...wait, no, Bren has them! I save the day. (They found someone to cover--the weddings are safe, there will be music!) So that's all taken care of. Mr. Cameron demonstrates one of the most common side-effects of painkillers by ralphing into a bucket--several times. (My dad, a PhD in pharmacology, once said that when asked, on an exam, what the four most common side effects of some drug were, you only had to know one, since nearly everything had, for most common side effects, nausea, anorexia, and vomiting.) Had he asked for a different painkiller? The thought had never crossed his mind, he figured he was just stuck with it. *sigh* Ask them to change the painkiller, I tell him.

Then the surgeon came, and said again everything the ER doc had said. Gallbladder's got to come out. A week or more on the couch. (Oh, my goodness, you say you're puking your guts out? Let's change that painkiller!) Surgery tomorrow (that is, today) about 1.

Can Grandma take the kids around then? She can. So it's off to swimming lessons this morning, then off to Grandma's and the hospital.

I swear, I never, at any point, wished for more excitement in my life, or more things to do.