Here is the breakdown of Thursday:
10-noon: Volunteering for Take Home Reading at school
noon-1:30: At hospital with Mike and his 2 pints of lung-sludge
1:30-2:30: Picking up food at Cafe Rio for Bubble Boy. Comfort Food makes it all better, right?...
2:30-3:15: Couch-time, talking with Mike
3:15-6:00: Picked up Max from school, took him to get his hair cut, grocery shopped, stopped at Wal-mart (Max talked me into it, to look for some #$^%&* game he's been saving for), stopped at Sonic for Mike's fav limeade, came home exhausted. I was in-&-out of the car all day, going here, going there, heaving my not-so-nubile self to and fro without cease. I'm finding that going non-stop is tiring when pregnant. Go figure.
So. I spent the morning (10am-noon) exchanging the books for the Take Home Reading program at the kids' school, at the end of which I got a call from Mike at the hospital, having been there from 8:30 'til noon, telling me the doctor was about the drain his lung. (Here are a few verbal memory-triggers: pneumonia, fluid-filled lung, Bubble Boy...)
Mike: "They're going to drain my lung now if you want to come."
Crystal: "Ok. It'll take me about 15 minutes to get there; do you want me to come?"
Mike: "If you want. They're ready to do it now."
Crystal: "Just start and I'll finish the books and be there in about 45 minutes."
About 5 minutes after hanging up the phone, I stopped in my tracks and thought, "WHAT? I'm so lame! He probably wants me to be there!" I called to find out where to locate him, but no answer; obviously, they'd already begun. I spent the next half hour sick to my stomach and feeling like a big jerk. When Mike called, I'd been so distracted with the #$^%& books and leaving them mid-process. And--in my puny defense--he was being a typical man-talker. If that had been ME about to undergo some surgical process, I would've said, "Please would you come be with me? I'm kinda freaked out."
So he calls me back after they're all finished and tells me where to meet him and that the Dr. still needs him there, etc. Now that I actually know WHERE to find him, I rush off to the hospital and when I get there he looks terrible. And tells me it was really creepy and he passed out. (and they sucked 2 pints of what looked like swamp water out of his body. blech)
Yes. I win the Wife Shmuck of the Year Award.
***The first person to correctly guess which movie I'm quoting in my post title--without google's help--will receive a Good Mail surprise from me.***
