I was going to write about the worst Spring Break I ever encountered, which happened this past March. (I'm withholding many details here, mostly because they're not mine to recount.) Ed was admitted to the hospital after three visits to the emergency room, two or three visits to his primary care physician, and a visit to an InstaCare clinic; he had tests that included a spinal tap, x-rays, multiple rounds of blood work, an MRI, a biopsy, and an endoscopy - and several follow-up visits with a neurologist.
The hell of it is that we still don't know what the problem was.
I've never slept overnight in a hospital before, and I hope never to again. I'd go home for an hour to shower, grab some clean clothes, and swap out some laundry before going back to the hospital.
So much time spent in the hospital; the medical staff were all wonderful and kind and friendly and gentle and answered all my questions, because I am, in fact, someone who wants to know as much detail as possible, and all the technical, medical names for things (even if I immediately forget).
It made me grateful that Ed's father and my parents were able to come out to help at the proverbial drop of a hat, so that after Ed was discharged and he started to feel better, I could go back to work but someone could still be around. (For about a week and a half, someone was with him in the same room at all times, otherwise he'd panic.) It made me grateful that we have such good health insurance, otherwise we would have owed more than $30,000. It made me grateful for Ed's job that provided such good health insurance, and that he had such a wonderfully understanding boss, since Ed was out of commission for more than two weeks.
So this is not so much an experience spending time in a waiting room and being shaken as it is spending time in a medical environment in which questions are simply and frustratingly unanswerable.