September Is Technically the 7th Month

What a week (and okay, yes, I realize it's not over yet)! You know how you start off thinking one way about something, and then are blind-sided by the fact that you are completely wrong? It occurs just often enough for you to realize that life, despite having organizing principles, must deep down just LOVE chaos? Well, my blog post title describes that kind of thing. September, in the Roman Calendar, was the 7th month (septum meaning "seven" and septimus "seventh" - in Latin).

Well, this week has been like that. I started off Monday with the thought that this would be a boring and annoying week to get through until this weekend, when I had fun plans with friends. And that next week would be way more fun and exciting, because I start childbirth classes, had a dentist appointment, have a baby shower, won't have to work Thursday evening and can watch my shows, etc.

Then on Monday, my dentist's office called - they had a cancellation, would I like to come in tomorrow at 9 for my appointment instead. Naturally, I said yes, because at that point I was totally ready to just get that particular event over with.

So on Tuesday, I go to the dentist (anyone who knows me KNOWS how much I loathe this particular appointment. I am a big wuss, and it's because I hate the sounds at a dentist's office - drills, hooks scraping on teeth, those air nozzles they use. Plus I usually have a cavity or two that needs to be filled). All is fine - I am temporarily reprieved from the whole cavity thing because they don't feel comfortable with x-rays on a 6 months pregnant woman, and don't notice any teeth specifically ready to fall out from rot - so that can wait. Instead, I get a nice cleaning, which wasn't so bad.

I go to work, dreading the soreness my gums will feel later and already looking forward to next week. And then I get this email from my husband saying to call him either at home or on his cell. I already know this is bad, because he NEVER tells me to call him while I'm at work, especially on his cell because he uses that only for traveling and emergencies - he doesn't usually have it with him, even! So I immediately leave the desk and go outside to call. I notice my sister-in-law has also called and kick myself for not setting up voicemail on my phone yet.

He tells me that my dad passed out and they're taking him to the hospital, they think it's his heart. He doesn't have a lot of details, but they're going to St. Theresa's and he'll be going there. I tell him I'll be meeting him there, because there's no way in hell I'm going to NOT be there if Dad has had a heart attack or something. I tell my boss who immediately tells me to take a deep breath, calm down, drive safely, and "Go." Those were her words.

Luckily, I call my sister-in-law back and learn that no, dad's doctor said to take him to Wesley and that my brother is going to be on the way soon.

I realize my husband doesn't know this information. I have forgotten my husband's cell number.

I call my father-in-law, ask him if he has it and could he please call his son and let him know the change. I attempt to drive like I'm in some kind of control, but apparently it was old-man-with-hat driving time and they are all on the same road driving about 20 mph. I do in fact get to the emergency room - and I am the only one there with him, besides doctors. I learn basically nothing, because he has just got there and doesn't really know anything himself.

We wait. My husband gets there with my stepmom (he picked her up). We wait. Finally, we learn it's not his heart, it's not clotting, he passed out because his blood pressure dropped due to an infection. His white count is through the roof and they think it's skin infection turned septic. He gets admitted to Wesley. My brother gets there and stays the night, my older sister is on the way the next day.

My stepmom leaves early because, and I kid you not, she had JUST GOT OUT OF THE HOSPITAL that weekend after having a hysterectomy. She still has staples and is weak. My husband is worried about me getting an infection - or little MCO, which would be worse.

Dad is still in the hospital. I've missed hours of work, not that anyone at my job cared, but still. He is doing better now, but still in pain, still with a fever and a high white count (but dropping), still weak. His leg is swollen and inflamed. My husband is tired (and we're both annoyed with my OB/GYN, though that's another story), I'm tired, my siblings are tired. My dad is tired. And it's only Thursday - the day I normally have off, but because this is a crazy week and chaos reigns, I volunteered to work and have Friday off instead.

So you see - September MEANS 7, but it's the 9th month. And this week began, in my head, meaning 7 (metaphorically) but was really 9. Aren't I clever?