back down the rabbit hole

Scrotum. There, I said it. It is the word that probably got the most press for Susan Patron’s Newbery winner, The Higher Power of Lucky, so why not use it in this post? It is what happened(about a month ago now). I really could not make this stuff up if I tried.

Scrotum was NOT supposed to be the word of the day, but somehow it was. My plan was to make waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, iron B’s shirt, give myself a facial, and figure out what to do with my hair before heading off to the gala in Beverly Hills. Yes, we were invited to a gala in Beverly Hills by a Twitter friend of B’s. More on that later. (And yes, I know I live a charmed life.)

Things started off as planned. I heated up the waffle iron, cut up the strawberries, and whipped up the cream. Where it got sidetracked was when B came down to have breakfast. In the middle of eating his waffles he tells me that he thought he had a bug bite “down there” and when he scratched it, it started bleeding. It hadn’t stopped. That was probably 30 minutes ago.

So essentially my husband had been sitting across the kitchen table from me, nursing his bleeding scrotum, while eating his hot waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. He said he knows I get mad when he doesn’t come to eat when I call him, so he just came downstairs instead of telling me what had happened. (Yes, somehow I am the bad guy for preparing his meals and then calling him to come eat.)

Somehow we finished breakfast (did I mention the waffles with strawberries and cream?) and B went back upstairs to try and get the bleeding to stop. After a few more minutes had passed, I suggested he call the Advice Nurse. We have health insurance, so we should use it. Perhaps there was something more than applying pressure that might work? I asked if we had any crazy glue.

I got him his phone and his wallet. He called and after answering a bunch of questions about the wound, he was basically told to go to urgent care. I should point out though that after all that, she didn’t tell him where the nearest location was, or which one was in network. So really, that was no help at all.

We got dressed and headed to Chino Hills as B remembered there was an urgent care there. He had looked it up in the event I needed to go during the ectopic pregnancy ordeal.

We got in the car, and thankfully did pretty good with the lights. It is still at least 15 minutes away with the traffic being good. B was wearing a pair of shorts, so he could access his wound and keep applying pressure. All I could think of was please don’t let us get pulled over today. Why yes, officer, I know it looks like my husband is playing with his balls, but actually he has a laceration to his scrotum. We are on our way to urgent care so they can put sterilized crazy glue on it right now!

Instead, I ended up behind an 18-wheeler as we went up the hill on the 60. I passed him on the right. I know that is illegal, but it really wasn’t safe to move into the left lane as the truck was going so slow, I could not go as fast as any of the cars approaching. Plus it might have caused an accident if the driver of the truck mistook what B was doing in the passenger seat. Can you imagine? I forgot how dangerous it can be getting to the ER.

We made it to the urgent care and we were brought right into a treatment room. We were then left there to wait. I told B to take off his shorts and shoes so it would be easier for him to apply pressure. After a few minutes a nurse came in to check on B and make sure he wasn’t gushing blood or about to faint. She gave him a bunch of gauge and said someone would be in shortly.

Another nurse came in and closed the blinds. I guess to give B a bit of privacy. We were on the ground floor, facing the parking lot. Thankfully I hadn’t noticed anyone pass by. She told him to apply pressure, which is what he had been doing. He had now been bleeding for over an hour and a half. At this point I am thinking they are drawing straws in the break room, trying to figure out who gets this case.

This nurse also brought B a gown, but really that didn’t help him. He was still *exposed*. Meanwhile, I was taking the used bloody gauge and putting it in the hazardous waste bucket.

I also realized we were supposed to be heading to Beverly Hills in less than 3 hours. Would we be here still? Would B feel up to an hour ride in the car? I messaged the woman we were meeting, leaving out the gory details.

A doctor finally came in to check on B. He said he wanted to give it 10 more minutes to see if the bleeding would stop. He came back a bit sooner than that and applied the sterilized crazy glue. B said it stung. At this point I had heard back from the woman we were supposed to meet and gave her an update. I still wasn’t sure we would make it.

Another nurse came in to take B’s vitals. I guess she had been at lunch. His blood pressure was high, but that was more likely due to bleeding and just the trauma of all of this. Honestly, I didn’t have much faith in her skills, and didn’t think much of it. I think in times like this, one’s blood pressure and other vital signs are bound to be out of whack. I mean almost no one wants to expose themselves to a bunch of strangers, even if they are bleeding and need their help to make it stop. The doctor came back in while she was finishing and said that the glue hadn’t worked. He was still bleeding.

At one point I had looked up from where I was sitting and had seen the injury. There was blood all over B’s thigh. And there was blood oozing through the white strips that the doctor had applied. I wondered if this is how he felt while he watched my transvaginal ultrasound? Thankfully there was one other thing the doctor could try before stitches, and that worked. We could leave.

First though, I had to sign some paperwork with the aftercare instructions. Basically it stated that he could take Tylenol for any pain and should return in 2 days for a wound check.

B got dressed, washed his hands, and then went to the restroom. While he did that, I got his insurance card and driver’s license back from the front desk. I paid the $25 copay. I have no idea what the actual bill will be, or if this center is part of our network. And I am pretty sure it will be applied towards the deductible. Did I mention my last EOB for the blood work related to my ectopic pregnancy finally arrived the day before?

We went home and B took a nap for about an hour. When he woke up I made us each a sandwich. He said he felt much better, and wanted to go to the gala. I messaged with the good news, and got ready to go.

I didn’t iron B’s shirt, although I had washed it, and hung it to dry, so it wasn’t too badly wrinkled. I jumped in the shower, and then pinned up my hair as best I could, threw on my dress and got in the car.

Thankfully the traffic wasn’t bad at all. There was only one spot where we slowed. We made it to the Beverly Hilton by 5pm. The day had really turned around, although at the time, I had no idea how crazy things were about to get. No idea at all.

On the night stand :: Dead End in Norvelt by Jack Gantos

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