What a Month it Has Been

This has not been the best couple of weeks I have ever lived through, my friends. The first Tuesday in November found me sitting in a hospital waiting room while my husband had a minor operation on his esophagus. Nothing serious, but it did entail a night in the hospital, with yours truly sleeping on a recliner next to his bed, which, as I told my family, was rather like sleeping on a speed bump. Since the operation was throat-related, Don was on antibiotics and a liquid diet for the next ten days. Not fun, especially since he does NOT need to lose weight, and it’s hard to keep the pounds up on soup and Jello. You can only eat so much ice cream. Not that I didn’t try to provide a good example for him.

Then came the second Tuesday in November, election day here in the good old U.S. of A. That very day a friend in Oklahoma called me, feeling very nervous and scared, and I was so encouraging…. It’ll be a rout, I said. Well, it wasn’t a rout, but it was a disaster. I was shocked and miserable, but my husband was devastated. It’s one of the few times that I was more philosophical about the state of humanity than he was. I will say that since that day, we have not watched the news once. I’m sure we will come around after our period of mourning, and fight the good fight as best we can.

After a few days of moping, around rolls last Friday, the 12th. I drag myself out of bed later than usual and am just getting dressed when I hear Don cry out in the living room. I rush in and find him on the couch with his hand on his chest. “My ICD just fired,” he said.

Long story short, he’s had this implanted defibrillator for eight years and it never fired once until then, when it fired six times in a row. He slid over onto his side, eyes wide open, and wouldn’t respond to me. I called 911, couldn’t remember my own phone number, couldn’t tell if Don was breathing, couldn’t understand what the operator was telling me. But by the time the EMTs arrived, he had recovered and sat up like nothing had happened.

Still, he did have a trip to the ER in an ambulance and we spent the bulk of the day sitting around waiting for test results. The cardiologist suspects that the event had to do with the ten days of liquids and antibiotics, and re-adjusted his meds. No shocks since then.

I am writing this post on the third Tuesday in November. Today is my 42nd wedding anniversary, which is odd, since I’m only 42 years old. I have decided that I’m sticking with 42, no matter how many more birthdays I have. Getting old is too damn difficult.