What kind of day is it when you watch someone stick a finger up your husband’s butt AND another stranger grab his balls?
Not a good day.
It can also be called a LONG day and/or a day spent at the ER.
All of the above is what I would call yesterday.
I have to be honest though. I did not exactly witness the first incident, the sticking-the-finger-up-the-butt moment. The doctor said I could be in the room but, as politely as I could, I excused myself. I told the doctor: “I’d like to sleep with my husband again, so I really don’t need to see this.” She laughed. I wonder if she sleeps with her husband anymore after multiple finger-sticking of various men?
We arrived at the medical clinic at 9:30 am. after dropping the kids off at school. I thought we’d be there for a couple of hours and they’d send Siig home with some medication and all would be good. He had been complaining of severe side pain since Friday night. We had spent a great weekend in San Francisco seeing live music with 50,000 other people at Outsidelands. Walking back to the car on Saturday night, Siig doubled over in pain. Of course, to all the drunk people streaming out of the concert he just looked like he had had too much to drink and was about to puke. He got a lot of laughs.
But Siig was not laughing.
We debated what he had. Pulled muscle? Hernia? Kidney stone? Before heading back to Tahoe our friends took us to the most amazing pizza joint ever, the recently opened Tony’s Pizza Napoletana in North Beach. The chef and owner was the first American to ever win the Pizza World Cup in Naples, Italy. His pizza margarita is to die for. If you are ever in SF and like pizza even remotely, you absolutely MUST go there. You will not be disappointed. The raspberry iced tea, meatballs and green beans were amazing too.
But I digress. So the doctor told us that Siig probably had one of three things: kidney stone, diverticulitis or…shit, I can’t even remember the third disease anymore. Too much witnessing of ball grabbings has erased my memory. Must. Block. It. All. Out.
So off she sent us to the ER to get a CAT scan. Sweet. Now I knew we were in for a long haul. Nothing happens at the ER under four hours, even in a relatively small community like ours. Every step takes forever. The check in, the registration, the triage, etc. It’s like they enjoy drawing it out as much as possible, just to prolong the physical and emotional pain.
The ER doctor, after fondling Siig’s balls and making him cough a few times (that, I did witness, and not sure if I am a better woman for it or not) and sending him through the CAT scan, diagnosed him with diverticulitis, which is basically an infection of the colon. Apparently, nuts and seeds can trigger it. Great. Siig, of all things, has grabbed a bag of almonds on the way home on Sunday.
While Siig was hooked up to an I.V. infusing him with pain meds and antibiotics, I listened to the hustle and bustle of the ER. They were having a very busy day. Nurse Monica was an angel but she was so busy she kept disappearing for long periods of time. We had some interesting neighbors: there was an older woman who had fallen out of a golf cart, a Harley dude who had a motorcycle accident and a 66-year old cyclist who had run over his buddy on his bike and then broke his own clavicle – for the third time. We got fed up with him after we heard him recount the story for the FIFTH time to his wife. He was clearly enjoying the attention. But the most annoying was the lady a few beds away who was reading aloud a book about Ted Kennedy to her husband. I like Teddie and all, but I don’t need to hear his entire life story read in a monotone voice in the hospital. Spare me.
By 4:00, Siigo was starving. He had not eaten anything all day. The doctor said he could finally eat so I gave him half of my turkey-avocado sandwich. Then Nurse Monica returned with a list of foods he should avoid for a few days. Meat was at the top of the list. It was to be a liquid and yogurt-only diet for a few days. Woops! We swore each other to secrecy.
An hour later, we were finally out the door, rushing to pick up our kids on time. I had joked with Siig that he should keep his hospital gown on and walk around like Jack Nicholson in “Something’s Gotta Give.” But I guess we had all seen his private parts enough for one day.