It started two weeks before Matt actually did anything about it. I’d catch him absent-mindedly rubbing his side, usually while he stretched. “Man, my side hurts,” he would say. But then a few days would pass and the pain would subside or a kid would need attention.
Finally a trip to the doctor that resulted in an X-ray, blood-work, and a urinalysis. White blood count was normal, urine was fine, and the X-ray? Nothing except a bowel full of shit. The doctor sent him home with instructions to poop. Also to come back if the pain got worse or his symptoms changed.
Enter temperature and vomiting, stage left.
Two days later, he went back to the doctor with his additional symptoms. I didn’t go with him to the appointment this time because, ahem, you remember that bowel full of poo? Yes, I love my husband (deeply!) but not enough to watch him get an enema. I seriously thought that is what the doctor would “take care of” before sending him home on his merry way. So when Dr. Harris sent Matt straight to the hospital, I was feeling a bit like a bad wife.
Enter wife guilt, stage right.
More blood-work, a CT-scan, and just a minor abdominal surgery means that my husband is now sans his appendix.
It also means he has been home for the past two weeks recovering (with one more week of time off to go), which in turn means I’ve had plenty of time to rectify my bad wife status.
Praise the Lord.