. . . worried about stress

During my lifetime, I have had two hospital stays, for the births of my two children. Had they been born more recently, I would have spent approximately two days in hospitals; back in the day, when they were born, I was required to spend three to five days for each birth. First time, hated it, wanted to go home. Second time, loved it, luxuriated in the ability to stay in bed all day.


However, my husband has spent way way way more than his share of time in hospitals, from the first year we were married to yesterday and today. Mostly he was in there for problems with his knees, which resulted from his football playing days. I have lost count of how many surgeries he's had on those knees, culminating in total knee replacements on both knees while he was in his early 50s. Even those replacements didn't work out very well, the replacements were replaced, and then replaced again.


He had been feeling rotten for several days, and after urging from me and his kids, he took himself to the closest hospital yesterday (after work, of course.) I think he figured they would check him out, give him some medicine, and send him home. Oh, no, he spent the night. . . high blood pressure, cholestrol, low blood sugar; lots of tests, medication for everything, sonograms, EKGs, a bunch of stuff I about which I wasn't informed. But I know what will make him feel better: less work, more fun, less stress, learning how to relax. Go fishing, turn off the cellphone, take more rides, eat healthier and get exercise. Go on vacation. Quit working at a soul-stealing and all-consuming job.


It is seriously going to piss me off if something happens to him before we have had all the fun we need to have.