I often wake up early. This morning I fed the ponies at 6:00. The grass was dewey and there were flat spider webs strung across the field in several places, sparkling. It was stunning.
I was on the road by 6:30, as Sparky was being shipped out for an angiogram at 7:00.
My husband, full of vigour and suggestions, has recently been bothered by chest pain. That’s not good. His family history runs on the unfavourable side of heart disease, and despite having chosen a healthy lifestyle, genetics play their naughty role.
He’s been in the hospital for nearly a week, and had every heart test imaginable and this morning headed to the angiogram.
Directly after they shipped him out by the ambulance and accompanied by medics, I went to my orthopaedic surgeon appointment which was conveniently located exactly 30 seconds walk from the ward Sparky was in.
I hurt my hand a couple of days ago. The ER doc suggested I see a hand specialist. Hand specialist reveals that I neatly tore the ligament joining the thumb joint right away from the bone. “A complete tear, we. call that,” she says. “We must fix it, or your hand will be pretty useless for the rest of your life.”
And so my ligament awaits reattaching.
I wept all the way home because, well, it’s been a frightfully busy and worrisome week with husband having heart problems.
After a little while I stop crying. Sparky waits and waits in the cardiac unit. We wait and wait for his call.
Eventually it comes. His angiogram is underway. I drive, he calls just as I arrive an hour later at the hospital. Success!! Angiogram finds blockage, Doctor fixes it, artery is saved, heart is undamaged. Husband is perfect again.
We wait for all the things and all the people to do their checking. We bring Sparky and his new artery home. The nurse calls after us, “congratulations on your new artery!”
And we drive home. And life is beautiful again.
And that, my friends, is what the day brings sometimes.