I didn’t celebrate my Big, Exciting News last night.
I do feel a little bad, like I was letting the producer and other presenters down. Instead, I curled up into myself, put a smile on my face and went about business as usual. I wanted to ring a friend or two, but didn’t, because … well, I didn’t actually know what was going on.
Whilst I was getting stuff organised yesterday, and awaiting the Big, Exciting News, by beloved hubby was lying in bed with Man Flu. He knows now that I will ignore him and say things like “Shut up and go to bed.”
I know he’s unwell. I leave him to it. When I am unwell, I like to just lie down and be left alone. He had a high temp and was just feeling blah. Yesterday morning, walking the littlest one to childcare, he was – expectedly – walking slower than I wanted to walk. I thought not much of it, as he was unwell. He did mention he felt tight around the chest. No pain, just couldn’t take a breath in.
Oh, and it’d only been going two or three days. Not worth mentioning, apparently.
He hopped into bed upon our return and I left him to it. But the chest thimg was nagging at me. I checked the heart attack symptoms; pain in arm – no, pain in jaw – no, pain in chest – no. Rang and booked an appointment with the GP.
And rather than let him sleep, I let my worry get the better of me, and did what you do with your first baby, and checked him every half hour.
“Are you ok?”
“Hm, huh .. wha’?”
Not because he was dying, but because he’d just got to sleep and I’d woken him. Helpful, no?
We’d worked out the logistics of the afternoon. Kids rode home from school themselves, and I was going to take him to he doctors – because they only ever have Inconvenient Timeslots Available – get the kids to walk to guitar lessons, together, and without fighting [insert spit coffee over keyboard here] and collect them on the way home from the doctor.
Grumpy insisted he’d be ok, and actually looked a little better, after I let him sleep solid for longer than 20 seconds.
He drove, I braced the icy Melbourne winds and walked the kids to guitar. I haven’t heard from Grumpy after some time, so I text “What’s happening?”
He rings. The doctor thinks he has a virus, but did an ECG, and it was all fine. However, just to be safe, he wants Grumpy to go hospital for a couple of tests.
To make sure he hasn’t had a heart attack.
And “don’t worry, I’m fine”.
Which does wonders for my feeling confident that it’s “just a virus”, which I’ve suspected all along. But I’m not a nurse, so, really, have not much clue about the levels of heart attacks one can endure and how they may appear. Still, I wasn’t thinking this was an option … till now.
My fears were ill allayed by the “He has called an ambulance [what the fuck????] and he doesn’t want me to drive there by myself [oh, yeah, this is really sounding like he thinks you’re ok and he’s ‘just checking’. This sounds like something much more serious], so I’ll call you when I know what’s happening. Don’t worry. Oh, that noise, that’s an oxygen mask so I can breath better.”
What. The. Fuck?
Things are not adding up. And, yes, I’m stressing and extremely worried. Monkey Boy has overheard most of the conversations, and loves a bit of drama, he has no qualms with loudly asking, in front of Godzilla “So, is dad staying in hospital all night? Is he having a heart attack?” and I am forced, yet again, to point out what a bloody catastrophist he is and request he stop bloody dramatising everything.
Inside, I let out a little *sob* and collapse a little. I don’t think so, but you just don’t know …
We make it home in the blustery cold, I cook dinner, I ring Grumpy and discover he is still at the doctors’, awaiting an ambulance. I, apparently, cannot even go and pick him up and take him, “just in case”. He must go in an ambulance and I’m hoping the doctor (not our usual, but one at the same clinic) is being overly cautious and somewhat dramatic.
Over two hours later, an ambulance arrives, he is delivered to an overflowing emergency department. The ambo’s, too, think he has a virus. He has to undergo blood tests, another ECG and a chest x-ray to make sure it’s not pneumonia or something … I keep the kids up as late as possible in the hope that Chippie will fall asleep on the couch and I don’t have to deal with the trauma of bedtime in the headspace I’m in.
I do send Grumpy a text and inform him that I have completely missed all opportunity to celebrate my news, with or without him, as I have no idea if I am to be driving or not … bastard! At least he has the decency to apologise and suggest another time.
At 10.00p.m. we make it to bed. I can’t be bothered fighting the kids, so we all climb into bed together. Then they start niggling, because I cuddled one of them for .03 of a second longer than the other, and Chippie is sitting on my head because he wants to lie between Monkey Boy and I and Monkey Boy won’t let him. He has a tantrum – still sitting on my head, with broken elastic-ed pyjama pants that he refuses to change, despite the fact that his “bum keeps falling out” of them.
I shoo them all away, and can’t decide if to fight sleep, or catch a nap. I have the phone next to me, “just in case”, and each time I fall asleep, I promptly jerk awake in case I miss someting.
Four hours later – at 2.00a.m. – Grumpy Pants walks in the door, relatively cheery.
Apparently, he has a virus.
And I awake this morning, exhausted. Not helped by Chippie coming in, bum out of pants, and demanding a cuddle at 4.00.
You know that tired where you cry at everything, even though nothing is bothering you. That kind of tired.
Yesterday – I had a massive high, and a stressful low (thankfully, not a real low!) – and this morning, Godzilla reminds me he needs a Myki card for a school excursion today, I ring the school to see if they need parent helpers, because I can’t remember if I promised or not and, whilst holding a cordless phone I ask Godzilla to grab something for me because I think I’m tethered by the cord I imagine is there.
I can’t remember how to make lunches. The school don’t ring me back, so I get organised to join them on the excursion anyway, by forgetting to make my own lunch. At least I remembered the umbrella and a warm jacket.
Grumpy Pants drives us to school – late – the Myki card is still not usable but I’ll work around that. The school principal happens to walk past as I get out of the car and tells me the excursion is cancelled.
I think I might sleep today ….
Mostly because Grumpy Pants is feeling much better and is far too cheery for my liking!
(And I think the relief of the last few weeks with Room To Grow and the relief Grumpy is well have come crashing down on me …)