Oh, how I love Sundays. (The ice cream kind, and the day kind.) Sundays mean church and friends; the kids make lunch, and I get to nap as long as I want. Sundays bring family walks (sometimes) and some TV zone-out time. Sundays are family days.
This past Sunday was not quite what I had in mind though. We had some relaxation, we had some family time. I got a tiny nap and there was mindless television. But most of this happened in the ER. My husband woke up at 2 am with intense stomach pain. After trying various methods of relief (I'll spare you any details) he was still in pain. I watched him writhing around on the floor, trying to find a comfortable position to fall asleep. Finally, just before 7 he said I think we need to go to the doctor.
(I'm so thankful our son is old enough to be responsible for his siblings for a while until my sister could come over to supervise.) I have never seen my husband in so much pain. It reminded me of my baby-contractions; such intense, focused pain. The doctor eventually got around to us and got some pain relief in an IV. G was able to relax a little, and then the doc could exam him. After x-rays, blood work and CT scan, the diagnosis was ... unknown. On the bright side - no appendicitis, no gallbladder issues; after a lot of dialogue and such, and knowing there was some irritation inside his intestines, we think he was just really dehydrated. Combined with my burnt dinner (yes, I occasionally have charcoal in my meals, don't you?) this made for a painful digestion - or rather, non-digestion, for him. I'm just thankful it wasn't something worse. And we got a lot of together time, making for a nice Sunday after all.