I think I reached the pinnacle of sanity last Friday. We were beginning the process of adjusting to our family's "new normal"after Yukon's accident, getting him back behind the wheel of his beloved Ford Valdez, allowing him to breathe without me in the room, that sort of stuff. We had a delightful, meaningful Easter together, quietly enjoying each other's presence and the beautiful day. I finally began to get my own projects under control, including a huge grant for our pastor's sabbatical in 2012 and a participant guide for the upcoming Mayor's Marathon in Anchorage, mixed in with a thousand other little things a business owner must do.
Yeah, what was I thinking? Yukon of course was overdoing things a little, as I suppose any of us would when allowed back into the realm of our regular world. I stopped by his office to drop off a car key and noticed as soon as he walked out of the building the familiar shuffling gait, the pale face, the reluctance to respond to my inquiry of "How do you feel?"
Shaking, I told him to call his doctor and tell him he was on the way. I had to take some friends to the airport and it was too late to find someone else, so we asked Yukon's coworker (god bless him) to take him to the doctor's office and I would meet them there. I drove my friends like a crazy woman to the airport, dumped them off at the door, and raced back to the physician's office, where co-worker sat nervously reading a magazine.
Running up and down hallways with a jigsaw puzzle of closed doors, I finally found Yukon and the doctor discussing a plan. "Can you take him over to the ER for another CT scan?" Dr. asked. Crap. Of course I will.
ER staff said "Hello, are you back again?" (I've decided this is not such a bad thing), hospital chaplain friend thought I was joking when I said we were baaaack, as did another friend who had to pick up Bear from school, again. Sigh.
Nurses listened and were concerned about lack of breath sounds, (his not mine). Scheduled him for CT and ultrasound, said it would be a bit of a wait while they recorded EKG and such. I left to ostensibly let The Dog out of his kennel and grab some things for a long stay, just in case.
I sat in my car sobbing. Positively gushing tears for a scared Yukon, an exhausted me, and two boys who I feared might not be in the presence of their father for much longer. I simply could not stand one more minute. Not one.
After three hours of nail biting tension, we found out Yukon had experienced an asthma attack due to his increased activity and all the dust in our Anchorage air. The CT and ultrasound showed, thankfully, no sign of pulmonary embolus or the offending clot in his leg. Good news.
When we were about to be released from the ER and the nurse was out of the room getting our paperwork, Yukon looked at me from his narrow bed, still attached to tubes and wires.
He started to cry.
"I was so afraid for you," he said.
I think we've all had enough of this.