At least, that was the running gag for the five days we just spent in the hospital. Here's the long story:
On Saturday, Scott was ill. He had severe stomach pain and indigestion. Eventually, he threw up, so we assumed stomach virus, or maybe something he ate. (Apparently, he thinks eating expired yogurt is a good idea.) By Tuesday, rumors of a stomach bug were in evidence at both of our workplaces, and I had an upset stomach, too, so we figured Scott had just had a bad case of it. His abs were still feeling sore, which we attributed to having thrown up so much.
He was feeling generally better by Wednesday night, so after Nicky's TKD, we opted for take-out Chinese as a treat. The General Tso's pictured above was actually Nick's - we had chicken with broccoli and tried a little Hot and Spicy Shredded Beef, which we agreed was neither hot nor spicy.
Around ten o'clock, Scott tried to lie down on his right side to go to sleep. He was overtaken instantly by viscious pain in his chest and upper abdomen. Long story somewhat shorter, I took him to the ER. Apparently, the magic words in the ER are "chest pains" because they hauled him back to a room and had about 6 techs hooking him up to all manner of equipment fast enough to scare the heck out of both of us. He was still in really bad pain, but as the night went on, it started to ease back a bit. Once they had ruled out heart attack, the pace slowed down. Morphine and what they called a "GI cocktail" of Maalox and Lidocaine ditched the rest of his symptoms. Through blood tests and ultrasounds and various poking and prodding, they determined that Scott had gallstones. So our question was, okay, how do we fix that? Turns out you remove the gall bladder. Now, it's been a LOOOOONG time since life science, and I was a bit shaky on the purpose of the gall bladder. Turns out, it's useful, but fairly optional. Okay.
Then things got weird. Plan A was to figure out exactly how long Scott had been sick. Do they count from Saturday? If so, he has to leave and come back to get the surgery later, cause the gall bladder is probably too inflamed to remove. Do they count from Wednesday? If so, time to have surgery, RIGHT NOW. They needed blood tests to figure it out.
Problem was, the blood tests came back showing elevated liver numbers. This meant a shift to Plan B. If Scott's liver numbers were high, that meant he might have a gall stone in his bile duct. So, before they could decide when and how to operate, they needed to do a procedure called an "ERCP" or something like that. In plain English, they needed to stick a camera down his throat and poke around in his bile duct to get rid of any stones. Cause if the stones went into his pancreas, that was BAD.
So they admit him. I call Cyndy, who rushes to watch the kids, who had been sleeping alone at home. We get half an hour of sleep or so, and spend the day waiting for his procedure. Finally, they say that it will be on Friday at 2:30. At this point, Scott is actually feeling fine, although there are nurses and visitors in every half-hour or so, which precludes any actual rest. (I had used Facebook to send out an SOS and our family and friends were in the know. The visitors and cards were nice, because Scott couldn't sleep anyway.) So most of Thursday passes uneventfully. At least we know WHEN they plan to do the next test. I ran home to shower and came back with everything Scott needed to be as comfy as possible. The kids wound up spending the night at Barry's. We owe Cyndy and Barry big time.
Friday, they take him down for the procedure. They assure me I can just wait outside the door. Scott is a bit nervous, cause, hey, camera down throat. But everyone is acting like it is very simple. An hour passes. Then another. Finally, they wheel him out and he is vomiting all over himself and looks frankly horrible. I try to follow but get stopped by a nurse who wants me to talk to the doctor and not go near the recovery room, but go back upstairs and wait. That's completely not going to happen. I am clear as crystal that I can't go in the recovery room. But I can sure as heck stand in the hallway outside so I can walk him up. Turns out later, he was asking for me from the second he woke up, which I could have told them. Anyway, I talk to the doctor, and he's basically, "I'm sorry, the procedure failed, we couldn't get into his bile duct. Now we have to do an MRI." I was thinking, okay, so if an MRI works, why not do that FIRST? Cause it's a whole lot less invasive. But he insisted that for most people, this works better cause they can get the stones out at the same time this way. Whatever. Didn't work for Scott. So Plan C was do the MRI. If there was a stone in the bile duct, immediate open-abdomen surgery. If not, leave, and come back for a laparoscopic surgery in two weeks.
The day before and Friday morning, Scott had been feeling pretty silly to be in a hospital bed. Frankly, he felt fine, and it was weird to be hospitalized with no symptoms. Not so after the ERCP. All of his old symptoms came back, plus additional post-anesthesia garbage. He was sick and miserable Friday night and Saturday. During this time, he got no word whatsoever about when the MRI might take place. Meanwhile, the kids stayed with Barry again and then with Jon and Laurie. Poor things - bounced all over the place.
Sunday morning, still nothing. So we took to being annoying. Everyone who came in, we asked when Scott's MRI was going to happen. I had left for an hour or two each day to take care of various aspects of our life, and on Sunday, I had to run our car (which thought now was a GREAT TIME to break down) to the mechanic. The brakes had started making dangerous sounds when I delivered the kids to Jon and Laurie's for overnight babysitting on Saturday. When I got back, they were finally wheeling Scott downstairs.
The MRI went smoothly, but we were again back to waiting, with no information being given. We knew that either Scott would get surgery right away, or he would be sent home. Either way, all that needed to happen was for a doctor to look at the MRI. So we waited impatiently until after 5. Finally, I decided I needed to go home and get the kids something to eat.
Trust me. The words "We just won the lottery!" or "We're going to Disney World" have nothing on a phone call saying "Come get me! I can go home!"
The doctors didn't find a stone in the bile duct. So we got to take Scott home late Sunday night. I had to practically lock him in the house to keep him from going to work Monday morning, but I'm glad he didn't because he's been sleeping or staring around exhausted all day.
He has to go back for a follow-up, where they will determine if the multiple antibiotics he is taking have fixed the inflammation. Then, he will need to schedule surgery, and he will probably miss some work after that as well. But at least he's home for now!
Here's the kicker to all of this. Most of you know Scott has lost 96 lbs. Turns out, weight loss can cause gall stones. How much does that suck? He worked so hard to get healthy, and it made him sick!
Thanks all, for your prayers and well-wishes! Please keep Scott in your prayers as he finishes this process out with surgery later in the month.
Nicky's always been just a little bit obsessed with Abraham Lincoln. Don't ask me why. He came home last weekend with two new library books about Abe, and challenged us to come up with any facts about Lincoln he didn't already know. We lost.
I don't really know why Nick reveres Abraham Lincoln so much, but how can I object to such an educational interest?
And there were hugs.
And there were relatives.
And more relatives.
Which meant more presents.
And more hugs. With kisses. And cooties.
And lots and lots and lots of food.
