Mid-morning, however, Ken arrived home after doing some errands and complained of chest pain. Side effect of medication? Aren't you supposed to call the doctor if you experience that side effect? Yes, call the doctor, he said, and then, No, take me to the emergency room. This was a new kind of pain.
And off we went. I don't have a high degree of confidence in our little hospital here, but when it's the heart, you go to what's close, and that means local. Besides, we're about two miles away. We spent the better part of three hours there, most of that waiting for test results that told us virtually nothing. He wasn't having a heart attack, which was good news, but there was nothing to explain to type of pain he had had, either. There are some ills that, without explanation, you can live with. I don't find that acceptable when it comes to the heart. In Ken's case, a tear in the muscle means certain death, and that, particularly, is not acceptable.
We follow up with the cardiologist today, and my expectations are high. Tell us what we're dealing with, offer a diagnositic aid, give us something to go on. Life is at stake. I can live with husband interruptus. Living without that husband is not on my Christmas list.