Bad Timing

I'm sitting in the living room watching Italy run circles around Germany in the semi-final for the UEFA Euro Championship game, thinking about how much can change in a very short amount of time. For instance, it only takes seconds (lucky opportunistic seconds) in soccer to score a goal. We are in the 50th minute. That's 40 whole minutes for Germany to make a come back. I've seen them win a game in the last five minutes. A lot can change.

My husband and I are leaving for the South in just two days. We haven't really packed as much as we should have because things have changed. I took my poor hubby into the clinic yesterday, only because he refused to go in the day before. From the looks of irritation flashing my way via the doctor and nurses, that was a poor choice. In fact, I didn't even mind (that much) waiting until yesterday to go in with him--he seemed to be getting better. How wrong we were. They put him on oxygen, took blood to send down to the Mayo Clinic, and promptly ordered an ambulance to get him to the hospital. The doctor in the ER was amazing. He pumped John full of pain meds, antibiotics, and fluids as soon as he could. The nurses were kind. But they strongly suggested that he stay overnight. Now, my husband has good reasons for hating hospitals and I wasn't about to force him to do something he really didn't want to do. So, pumped full of these drugs, we went home. Yet another bad decision. I've never been so scared and worried in my life. It was a rough night. Because of our usual bad luck when it comes to anything medical (the last time he went to the ER in the middle of the night, he ended up with a doctor who almost killed him via overdose), he refused my insistance to take him back in. "It sucks there," was all he could muster between chattering teeth. Mayo won't be getting back to us for another week, by which time we will probably have access to a nice VA hospital--maybe one which John wouldn't mind spending the night in. At least Mayo will be able to tell us what is going on. His symptoms have suggested some tick related disease; I'm just praying it's nothing too serious. He has antibiotics and anti-nausea pills (the latter does not seem to be working, making the first useless). I know he's wishing for pain meds what with the migraine he's had for the last three days. Trust me, as someone who suffers from chronic migraines, I can't imagine the horror he is experiencing.

So, like the Germans, I'm hoping for some change. It's the 75th minute, and they are still down by two goals. The way the Italians are playing, they will probably score a third soon. It's day three on John's sickness from hell, and right now, it seems like there will be many more of these days to come. My only hope is that I don't underestimate how bad this sickness could be, and let the love of my life fall too far into pain and misery.