The beginning of this whole thing - that's without consulting my pancreas, was the day I found out just how warm and comforting morphine can be to an abdominal spearing pain. What would become one of four trips to the ER over 60 days began on Friday - Halloween night. From my perspective it was 12 hours in length, most of which was feeling the benefits of a retreating morphine high slowly returning me to what I thought was a boxing match I was losing to relentless stomach shots. The comedy of this whole thing came only in the presence of dressed up werewolves, superman heroes and the like, most in some level of inebriation seeking as I was the care of doctors, and relief from pain. Since I slept through most of it, Chris can give a better account of just how bizarre that day/night was.
I pretty much discharged myself on Sunday, convincing myself and all others that the worst was over and little if nothing more needed to be done than to be careful about my diet. Was I ever wrong. On Monday I was back at ER, another marathon that included again that spearing pain and the need for morphine. Chris, who for the second time, left work, endured the hard chairs next to me in a hallway bed, hospital chaos all around us, sat with me, held my hand, and gave me courage and never faltered from asking a nurse or whoever to take care of any need that I had.
This admission lasted longer than a weekend with many highs and lows for the next 21 days. For me, as I look back at it, what impacted me most was my relationship and respect for Chris and how I totally needed to draw on her energy. She was there for me every step of the way. The times when I was short, frustrated or just plain cantankerous she just dealt with it. I came to discover a new side of her where her shoulders were wide and her heart was strong. I will talk of angels in my story; I want you to know I married one. Thank you God.
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