So Chris’ back blew out (much like a tire while cruising down the 101, but there is no spare).   It seized up on him for good as he drove to work last Tuesday.  He made it back to our curb, but was in the unenviable position of being inner-auto with no means of extrication.  He called me and I let him know that I was still a good fifteen minutes out.  “If you are in too much pain and you think it is causing irreparable damage, just call 911.”, I said.  He did.  So upon arrival home, having just entrusted my last school-aged charge to his teacher’s care, and with Sam fast asleep in his car seat…I turned down our street to see Station 31’s rig parked in front of our house.  And my poor, immobile husband was lying prostrate (or is it prostate?) in the front seat of his Grand Marquis (a hand-me down from Dad, who also, coincidentally has back troubles). (Note to self: Investigate the possibility that Grand Marquis’ actually CAUSE lower lumbar damage.)   So, I, being the sweet and sympathetic wife that Chris knows and loves, proceed to joke and tease with the fireman (all of whom, I knew, as it is in my blood).    They were attempting to put an I.V. in his arm to give him fluids and/or morphine, but couldn’t find a vein.   (Note to self: Investigate the possibility that Chris is, in fact, a vampire due to absence of veins.)  I suggested they put it straight into the carotid artery in his neck…..oddly, Chris scowled a bit.  Then when they still couldn’t move him from his position, I suggested the Jaws of Life (hmm, another scowl from Chris).  I was merely trying to add some levity to a stressful situation.  I reminded him of all the jokes he attempted when I was in my cumulative thousand hours of labor and pushing with his three boys, but he simply did not see the correlation.  The ambulance finally arrived and  carted him off to the hospital.  After picking up Alex from preschool, he and Sam and I visited Chris in the emergency room.  Chris was very doped up on dilaudid and/or morphine, which was probably good since Alex surmised, out loud, that perhaps the reason dad hurt his back is because he is sooooo old.  God bless the little children and their pristine lack of artifice or tact.

Epilogue: Chris is doing well, having spent two glorious days in Cottage Hospital sharing his room with a junkie on methadone.  Despite my total lack  of sympathy and support, and Alex’ biting diagnosis of the true problem, he is thriving at home.  With any luck we will kick him out the door in the general direction of work by Monday or Tuesday.  I suspect he will go happily and willingly.   Hug the ones you love, even if they are sarcastic snipes like me.

Much love to all,

Tiff