Fiddle-Dee-Dee, A Fire Fighter For Me!

Ever have the entire cast of Magic Mike enter your living room while you looked like a pale, sweaty, bloated version of your middle-aged self? Magic Mike didn’t actually appear, although my husband’s name is Mike, but the men of the Clayton Fire Department’s hot (no pun intended), calendar models did show up. I may be a middle-aged mom, okay, okay, past middle age, but I still know attractive and buff men when I see them. The problem was, in my current condition, I didn’t want them to see me. THAT is how irrational you can be in the altered state of pain. Who cares if I’m dying, just don’t let ANYONE see me like this.

That particular night, I didn’t get to sleep because of sharp pain. I hoped it was a severe case of indigestion, but when it didn’t abate, fear took over. My chest felt tight and my breathing restricted, so I called 911. I politely asked them not to arrive with sirens wailing because I didn’t want to freak out our young son. The Firefighters were the first to respond. They arrived silently as requested but they entered my living room looking like a troupe of Chippendale dancers. They were kind and patient and flipping gorgeous.

Yep, this was just peachy. When they told me that I needed to bare my chest so they could put sticky little probes all over me, I thought I was hallucinating. Oh Lordy! I haven’t exposed myself to even myself in the last 15 years. Let me just say I like the dark, and that my husband couldn’t pick my body out of a lineup if he tried. I latched on to the one who I thought was the eldest and told him that he could do the task only if he promised not to be scarred for life. I sent the other young’uns out of the room with my best “I’m old enough to be your mother” look, grabbed the afghan off the couch to use as a dressing shield and did my duty in the interest of medicine. To add insult to injury (Remember I said I was sweaty?), well the dang sticky things for the probes kept falling off. Stick, fall, pickup, stick, fall, repeat.

After I wrapped back up in the afghan and allowed the other gorgeous young Firefighters back in the room to check vitals etc., I asked my husband to wake our son so I could talk to him. I thought how best to explain that Mommy was sick and going to the hospital without freaking him out. I must have handled it really well because the kid was ecstatic. I mean, when he saw an entire battalion of firefighters in the living room he acted like I had done this just for him. He then proceeded to shake hands with all the guys, and then he told me “These guys are built!”  My son is a very sensitive child as you can see. In all fairness, he told me he knew they would take good care of me. When EMS showed up, the child was giddy with delight. It’s amazing what you are willing to go through for your children.

Once at the hospital, the x-rays and scans began in earnest, showing that my gall bladder was the size of Manassas and surgery was needed post haste. Turns out that an enraged gall bladder can mock the symptoms of a heart attack. While I was grateful this wasn’t a cardiac episode, I wanted pain relief STAT, whiskey, pain meds, even an epidural would have been heaven. For the record, having had little experience with pain meds, I will say that whatever they shot into my IV was some stellar stuff. I was impressed with everything, including the engineering genius of the barf bag. My husband told me I was waving the dang thing around, amazed at the funneled top to the holding area beneath. Meds, they do a body good.

It’s been well over a year since my epic gall bladder debacle, and I still wince when I pass by the fire department down the road from our home. I sent a thank you note as soon as possible, but I still don’t know if I should have baked a cake or paid for their counseling. It takes a special kind of individual to do what they do, and I am grateful beyond words for the kindness and caring they gave me and to the enjoyment and comfort they gave to my son. But, I can’t look them in the eye, not just yet. You see, I have no gall.