What's a weekend without a hospital visit?
You know you're in the OC when you pull into the hospital and you wait behind the BMW, Mercedes and Ferrari (yes, Ferrari) for the free valet parking. Yeah, our rockin' Honda Odyssey mini-van fit right in. All I needed was a boob job and an oversized Louis Vuitton satchel.
But with my heart clipping along at a worrisome 120 beats per minute, and feeling as short of breath as if I were climbing Mt. Everest--I really didn't care about "looking OC." I just wanted to know what was going on.
I'm sure it's nothing, I had said to my OB. Really. Can't you just tell me what to do so I can stay home this time?
Nope. It was off to Labor and Delivery yet again. And this time, they weren't pulling any punches.
"You're getting the million dollar workup," the OB said.
"Because it's going to cost me a million dollars, right?" Matt asked, only half-serious.
"Right," chuckled the doc, only half-kidding.
I felt like telling Matt to shut his trap.
"You're so unsympathetic," I wheezed.
"I'm just being practical," he said.
There's another not-so-nice word for "practical" that came to mind. But I didn't say it. I just gave him Ye Olde Evil Eye.
So as the series of tests began, I was shuttled around the hospital by a talkative, friendly guy who kept referring to Matt as "boss."
"Y'mind holding the elevator door for me, boss?"
"Y'ready to go, boss?"
"Just wait in here, boss. I'll bring your wife back to you safely, boss."
When we returned to fetch "boss" after my chest x-ray, he was exhibiting true signs of husbandly anxiety. He was fast asleep in the waiting room.
Then it was off to ultrasound to check for a leg blood clot--otherwise known as Deep Vein Thrombosis. Everything looked good. So, then I was pricked and poked and blood was drawn for thyroid issues and whatever other problems my body was having---other than carrying twins, of course.
When all the tests came back clear I had to shoot Ye Olde Evil Eye at Matt to keep him from saying "see, I told you so." But still, they wouldn't let us go home.
"Why?" Matt asked.
"Well, your wife's heart is not slowing down. We need to monitor that," the kind nurse explained.
Looking for all the world like a grumpy toddler, Matt reluctantly made a bed for himself on the pull-out sofa bed. Yes, this hospital has pull-out sofa beds in their delivery rooms. I was asleep in five minutes. So was he.
The next morning it was one last test--a CT scan. This one I could have done without. Another IV, an injection of iodine which made me feel like my entire core was on fire, and a few dips in and out of the donut-shaped CT scanner. All while laying on my back. Not fun.
Good news? All clear.
Bad news? My heart was still clipping along.
But they felt confident that all The Big Issues had been eliminated, so now it was just a matter of sending me home with firm orders to "Rest, rest, and rest."
On the way home, Matt kept touching me. Caressing my hair, my cheek, holding my hand.
"I could have used some of this in the hospital," I remarked.
"I'm just glad you're OK, precious little mother," he said, meaning it. He always calls me "mother" when he's feeling extra affectionate.
"I love you," I said.
"Were you scared?" he asked.
"Not really," I answered.
He didn't say so, but I think he was the scared one. I had felt disassociated from myself the entire time. As cheesy, pop-psych as it may sound, it wasn't until I was safely back in my own bed, with my own blessed mountain of pillows and blankets that I felt myself return to myself. Only then was I scared. Because it could have easily been very different.
I could have been on hospital bedrest. And I'm very sure I wouldn't be able to write a light-hearted blog post about that.