Don't Mess with the Vagus

On the medical front, we went to the doc, got all the hardware removed, and did the post-op followup. My man was fine on the way. He was fine on the table. He was fine and brave during the icky parts. Had a good conversation with the doc, snagged a copy of the pathology report and loaded my man in his truck to drive him home. We were driving, he was fine, he was fine -- and then he wasn't.

Ten minutes from the doc's office, my man starts to have a vasovagal attack.

Dealing with a person who is fainting while you're driving in high speed traffic is not fun, but I managed. Took another twenty minutes to get him home, warmed up and rehydrated. After a good long nap and more fluids, he was fine.

I, on the other hand, am now *officially* stressed out. Because a vasovagal attack sometimes also looks like a heart attack, especially when it's the guy you love, who had major surgery fourteen days ago, and you're on an interstate and driving a ton and a half truck 65 mph and holding his wrist counting his pulse rate under your breath while remembering the last guy who had a heart attack while he was alone with you didn't make it.

I don't want to have a heart attack, so after the scare was over I shifted into recoup mode. I prayed, drank my calming herbal tea, spent some time hanging with the man and our kids and did a little knitting. Now I'm going to soak in a tub for awhile, and then I'll write, and work out the rest of it on the page, where all that fear belongs.