Worst Day

If this isn't the worst day of my life, it's among the top three for sure.

It started out with Clover waking me up and walking all over me. It didn't take long before I realized she had feces all over her legs and behind. So, nauseated, I bathed the kitten. Stephen was awake and on his phone. I asked him if he'd called the dentist yet.

Last night we'd spent a little while in the emergency room. The right side of his face had developed an infection after a toothache. We got medication, lortab and amoxicillin, and went home.

So I was nervous that he get the real problem fixed soon - his teeth. They're really bad. I'm not sure what's wrong with them, but they are falling apart. I like them, they're just another asset to Stephen's charm, but I know it's not healthy. And, since he wasn't getting it done himself, I decided to nag him. It's apparently effective.

"No," he replied, "but I'll do it right now." And he did. He even got an appointment for today! I asked him if he'd taken his antibiotic. Again, he hadn't, but he did so right away. Happy wife.

So, still nauseated, I took him to his dental appointment. Stephen seemed as happy and carefree as always. We signed in and were taken back. I took a seat in the office, holding Stephen's things, as he left to an adjacent room to get X-rays of his mouth.

The (I assume) dental hygienist was very nice as she worked with him. I could see into the room, but my view was partially blocked by a wall. She kept asking him what was okay and if things hurt (he still had a swollen cheek from the infection). I noticed a specific question being asked more and more frequently as she took the X-rays. This is when I started to get concerned.

She asked: "Do you need to take a break?". It was maybe the 4th time before he responded with anything other than a refusal.

"Yeah, I think that would be best. I'm feeling kind of queasy. I think it's the radiation..." He paused. "How many more do you have to take?"

"8." She replied. "Yeah, you're looking kind of pale."

That's when Stephen started making this sound... I'm still not sure how to describe it. Like he was moaning, but in short intervals. That's when I got alarmed. I shot up and rushed into the room where I saw Stephen sprawled back into the chair with his arms out by his side, open-palmed to the ceiling. He was so pale, he was almost green. There was pink around his eyes, which were rolling back and fixed on nothing.

"He's had a seizure." The hygienist managed to say before I burst into tears, panicking.

I was in the hallway in zero seconds flat, shouting: "Please help him! Somebody help him please!" The dentist came in with an electronic blood pressure machine. Another hygienist came back...to see? I'm not sure. I stayed behind the wall. I couldn't see Stephen like that. I knew I should have been keeping it together for him. It wasn't about me, and I didn't want him to panic, but I just couldn't. I tried to stifle my crying behind the wall.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what happened." I heard Stephen say. He'd regained consciousness. He threw up a couple of times. "I'm so sorry."

The staff kept reassuring him that it was fine. The dentist conveyed to Stephen that his blood pressure was really low and that he was going to call an ambulance. He left the room.

"Baby?" Stephen said.

"Yeah, sweetie?" I came in, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry I worried you." He said. He was sweating now, and still very pale, a trashcan of vomit in his lap.

"No, baby! It's okay." I replied. I could hear the dentist telling another hygienist that his blood pressure was 80/44.

"I think it was the radiation."

"Baby, this doesn't happen to most people who get X-rays. You're blood pressure is really low. 80 over 44. Normal is 120 over 80."

"Oh.." He replied. "I don't need this anymore." he said, referring to the vomit-filled trashcan. "I feel fine."

I heard a hygienist say that "they" were almost here. She could hear them. I then heard the ambulance. I moved out of the room to make way. I stood there, stifling my crying again, when the original hygienist offered me a seat. I took it and watched as a parade of EMTs, firefighters, and even a cop glanced in at Stephen. The original EMTs stayed to check on Stephen. They asked how he felt, what his history was with epilepsy and if he'd passed out before. I remember them asking about a brain tumor. He replied to their questions.

One of them pointed to me and said something like "Wife?" And Stephen confirmed. The other one said I could come in. Stephen looked a lot better. Much less pale, but still noticeable. His sweating was no longer an issue. The EMT began explaining to me that what Stephen had gone through was called hypovolemic shock. I asked if they'd checked his blood sugar. The pointing EMT said he could and began getting things set up, and the other said "I don't think so. If his blood sugar was too high...(listing off symptoms) and if it was too low...(different list of symptoms)."

"Okay." I said. "I'm sorry." They made it a point to say that I was fine.

"Besides..." The EMT said "we don't want to give him a bad reaction to a needle and have his blood pressure drop again."

That had happened before, when Stephen went to donate plasma. He was turned away because he began to get faint. He doesn't have good reactions, I suppose.

The dentist had come in and began talking with the EMTs. It was kind of a blur. I was just happy Stephen was okay. His blood pressure had gone up to 109 over 70...something.

We set another appointment for tomorrow at 12pm. I hope this doesn't happen again.