Steve and I are waiting to find out just what's going on with Rich. He woke up this morning with a swelling the size of a Twinkie in a very uncomfortable place, and asked Steve if he would take him to urgent care this morning. Since the place didn't open, according to their phone message and on-line info, until 7 AM, ice packs were put to use.
When they arrived, the door said they opened at 8. Back home, more ice packs, more misery. Returning at 8, Rich told Steve to go home. He'd call when he was ready for a pick up, or had info why he wasn't.
We waited. And waited. 4 hours later he called us from the hospital ER. He'd be going into surgery very soon. They'd taken blood, had no more diagnostic information, and would be doing an exploratory. Depending on what they found, he might be home tonight or up to three days later. Oh, and if it wasn't today, could we bring his phone charger please? He didn't think he'd be needing anything else.
So we're waiting. Not really alarmed. He says it's not from an injury, which would worry me from all sorts of other reasons. He's where he needs to be to get it taken care of, and he assured me weeks ago that he had health insurance, one of the perks of the homeless shelter that is still following him. All we can do is make sure the ice cube trays are full, for now. And keep near our phones.
Some Happy Father's Day, huh.
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