We spent the evening in the ER last night. I wasn't sure it was entirely necessary to go in the first place, and I would have played the whole sequence differently, but I was a joiner, and that's not the point. What is the point? I muffed it up, I think, in my frustration. Everyone is fine, and the final diagnosis was "pain," which I didn't even know they could put on the discharge papers as a diagnosis.
But it broke my heart when I heard, at 11:45 last night, "I'm sorry I wasted 6 hours of your life." While there wasn't a minute of the time we were there that I thought it was truly necessary, I did know that there was the slight possibility that it was, especially since your tolerance for pain is at least as high as mine (except for emotional pain--but then again, you are also exceptionally sensitive, and more afraid than I am to show it). I'm sorry if you meant that apology, and if you really thought I felt that way. In all honesty, we kinda had a good time, if you don't dwell on the huge container of whatever that was you had to drink, the ever-tighter cuff, the IV, the CT scan....You are a delightful companion, and if ever I need to sit around with very little to do, I always, without fail, hope and pray that I will get to spend that time with you.
What I'm trying to say is this: I love you. I'm glad you are okay. And all I want is to do right by you.
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