So last week I was preparing to leave for a very important work-related project. I had to figure out all of the child-care for 4 days and 4 nights. I also had to scramble about gathering necessary information and supplies for work. I also had to deal with my older son being diagnosed with strep throat in the midst of this. I also had to deal with Mr. Gaga getting prepared for his “procedure,” which would take place the morning after I was set to leave.
I figured out the childcare with help from my in-laws - who came from NY and babysat and took the kids for a few days. This was a HUGE relief and help, and I really should give them a shout-out. I haven’t mentioned them much but apparently just enough to leave a distinct impression. When I told a friend my childcare plan – she said – “Well that will be good – just pack them each one pair of khakis and they can just wear them for 4 days.”
Anyways – so that was one problem solved. Then there was poor Mr. Gaga. Because of the fact that he failed his first colonoscopy that (my Dad brought him to over the summer because I was “busy”) – he was due for another procedure. I kept reminding him to schedule it – and he never did – so I just finally made the appointment for him.
Once I booked the appointment – they told me that he would have to do twice the amount of “prep” than usual. I had to iron out some stuff with the pharmacy and make sure he had all of his crazy drinks for his 3 days of fasting.
This poor man had to fast for over 48 hours!!! Also – instead of drinking one jug of “Colon-blow” – he had to drink two jugs of “Colon-blow”!!! It was borderline – “cruel and unusual punishment.” I was wondering if you could possibly get killed doing this inhumane preparation, but I had never heard anyone’s cause of death being “colonscopy prep,” – so he followed the instructions.
I had made his appointment a couple of months ago – and of course it fell right smack in the middle of this crazy week – when I would be away for work, which was problematic.
We figured out a way that my brother would bring him to his appointment and my father would pick him up while his father would be at our house getting children fed and to school at the crack of dawn. (When this was all happening I would be getting my hair blown out at Drybar - before I started my work day – which by the way was quite lovely.)
So those arrangements were made – Mr. Gaga started his fasting and by the end of day one was quite delerious. In the meantime – I was getting more and more stressed and nervous about work and guilty for leaving the kids, and I found out that I had to attend a wake on Tuesday around the time I had planned on leaving.
So finally I made my way Tuesday afternoon – Mr. Gaga was home on the toilet talking in tongues and the kids were going to eat dinner and go to bed. I stopped at the wake - and then I was on my way to New York.
When I arrived – I checked in with Mr. Gaga – said goodnight to the kids and tried to relex and not stress about my big day ahead.
At 9:30 PM – my phone rang. It was Mr. Gaga.
“Yes, what’s wrong?”
“I just opened my paperwork for tomorrow morning’s procedure to look at the address…” he said in a monotone voice of a starving man.
“Why does it say here that my colonoscopy is scheduled for March 9th?”
Cold sweat broke and vomit started to crawl up my throat.
I quickly grabbed my planner to make sure I wrote down February 22nd…
“Um, I don’t know…..I mean I know that your appointment is tomorrow….”
“Do you know what’s going to happen if I get there and they turn me away?” Mr. Gaga asked as his voice started to rise.
“You are going to divorce me?” I thought in my head….
“Um – just go there and tell them they made a mistake and it will be fine.”
We hung up – and I tossed and turned all night with nightmares about Mr. Gaga being turned away and him murdering me.
Thank God – they took pity on him and they squeezed him in – and the rest of the time I was away was smooth sailing.
And when I say “thank God” I really mean it ….Do you know what could have happened?
I was a little afraid that that small little detail that I had messed up……might ….just might…..be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
What if Mr. Gaga was mad at me about that little mix-up and he said -
“Get home – where you belong and stop fucking with our lives?”