It has been a very eventful 24 hours around here. After the celebration of my driving accomplishments, I continued in a productive mode with food shopping, getting gas for the car ($2.97/gallon!), walking the puppies (I have learned to continue wearing gloves to hold their leads. It saves a lot of wear and tear on my skin and holds the leashes more securely for when they spot a squirrel or bunny in the neighborhood who they simply MUST meet!), general house pick-up and working on next weekend’s concert program, and multitasked in front of the boob tube with the new baby afghan, and back to working on the concert program.

At this point it is around 11PM. Hubby bares his chest in front of my face and asks “Do you think that looks right?” pointing to the discoloration around one of his surgical incisions.

Um. No. Slightly puffy, greenish yellow with a white center line. It is the same one that has been seeping mostly clear fluids ever since the operation. We called on it twice and were assured not to worry unless he developed a fever, it swelled, or changed color. This was a different color.

So we called the doctor on call (it took 2 tries to hear back from her) who said it might need cleaned and repacked. She instructed us to go to the clinic where the surgery was done (25 minutes away at that time of night) or our local emergency room (5 minutes away at that time of night). For our sins,we chose the closer one.

We clocked in at the emergency room (DH tried to dissuade my presence, but staying home and wondering would have driven me nuts!) at 12:30 AM (what the admission papers read)…and clocked out at 6AM (ibid).

There were at least six infants and toddlers with various ailments, all fussing with their discomfort as their tired moms attempted to sooth them, walking, pacing, and making mom-noises. There were also a smattering of adults in the waiting room. They told us this was already getting better, time-wise. Looking at a possibly infected wound and redressing it was not (and rightly so) on the top of the priority list…so we waited.

I brought my afghan to work on, but neglected to make sure the crochet hook was included when I scooped the project up off the couch.

Time crept by. Impossible to sleep or even doze. Slowly the room emptied. Around about 4AM we were ushered into a small curtained area in ER. Hubby donned the oh-so-attractive johnny and took the best seat in the house, the bed. He scooched over and I was able to stretch prone for a few moments before gravity made it too uncomfortable to continue clinging to the edge. A nurse came in, looked at it and asked if it was possible that the surgeon used a marker around the incision area because it looked to her like bleeding felt-tip pen. Now that we looked at it, we conceded that night be possible. But it _was_ somewhat inflamed and sore.

The over-worked (apparently sole) ER physician did redress the wound. It looked cleaner than it had earlier in the evening, and not as swollen. He took a culture of the incision area, and insisted this really should have been done and looked at by the initiating clinic. Somewhere in the middle of observing that procedure I “started to come over all strange-like” (I read that in a Victorian novel once and loved it!) and veered off in search of the water I suddenly craved. Before I found the water fountain, however, I met the floor (very nice, clean floor it was, too but neither of us were up to conversation at that point).

How embarrassing. My blood pressure had plummeted to something like 57 over 40. The nurses fussed and wanted me to see a doctor. It was easier to acquiesce than to continue arguing in my current condition.

DH dresses and gets up off the hospital bed and I am promptly put in it’s place. On a bed, I mean.

Oh geez. Fainting. If it weren’t for that silly episode, we could have left at 5AM!

The doctor poked his head in, asked if that had ever happened before (not recently), asked how I felt, looked at the current blood pressure reading (109 over 66), and deemed me safe to go home and talk to my doctor about it. Before leaving, the nurse insisted on a last check and was cheered to see my more normal reading of 119 over 68.

The dogs went nuts wondering where we were all night. It being close to their breakfast time, DH fed them. We both collapsed into bed. I didn’t rise until the crack of noon.

Now, I am just a mite behind on the never-ending list of weekend chores. But I feel fine. Silly, but fine. DH is still sleeping (quietly, yeah!). And so, my day begins again.