So I managed to land my happy ass in the hospital last night, so I’m posting this from my phone. (Shhh, I’m pretty sure my cell phone usage is breaking hospital policy. They’re cutting me slack because of my child care issues)
Of course this happened while husband is out of town.
I’m relying on two different friends to watch my children/get them to school. I’ve texted/called work and let them know. I honestly have the best friends a girl could hope for. Seriously.
One friend came to get me and took me to the hospital. Another friend came over later and watched the kids, and the one who took me to the hospital came back and sat with me in the ER until after midnight.
I’m lucky to have my friends.
When I came in, I told the ER doc (who was pretty hot, as an aside) I was relatively certain I was having an esophageal spasm, with my usual nausea. Lord knows I have enough GI problems that this would not have shocked me. I even said, “And I’m pretty certain that led to a panic attack. I’m certain it’s not a big deal, but…”
So they ran some tests, and all was well. We agreed I could go home at midnight if all remained well.
Two hours later, I’m chatting it up with my friend and feeling much better, when they came back in to tell me that, in my latest round of tests, all was not well.
Dammit, I had them fully talked into not admitting me, so I could go home to my children. But, given the family history, once those tests came back not entirely normal (me, not entirely normal? Shocking!), they basically told me I didn’t have much of a choice.
Crap on toast.
So here I am post stress test, waiting.
I think my stress test was relatively normal. So that then begs the following questions:
Do I get to go home?
Do I have to stay here?
What’s the dealio, yo?
On the upside, I was offered a speech path job at the hospital by the cute hospitalist. I suppose if the school district drives me over the edge, I’ll have my fall back position. (They pay better, too! Private industry always does)