Mike's headache--the queen of all headaches--started in the first week of March, 2011. Every night he would say, if only I could get a good night's sleep, I'm sure this would go away. First, we banished the cats from the bedroom. Then I banished myself. Every morning he would greet me with the same squinty-eyed, pained look. He woke up me on Friday, March 4 at 6am and said that we needed to go to emergency.
We did.
They hooked him up to an IV, he slept, and--at 1:30pm--he awoke and asked, "Can we go home now?" I asked our brusque, rockstar doctor if he should have a CT scan. "It wouldn't tell us anything we don't already know," he said.
The next day, Mike was worse. Our friend Mark (who works at the U of A Hospital) swung by to check on him. He tried a few things...and when Mike didn't respond, we decided that we needed to return to emerg, per the doctor's instructions. Mark and Mary Ann loaded us into their van. It was another cold day; Mike had his toque on and wore large sunglasses, as he had become increasingly photophobic. He could barely speak and walking was difficult. We rolled him into the crowded waiting room in a wheelchair, where we were shuffled to the front of the line, after explaining that this was a repeat visit. Mark had coached me on what to say, but I didn't have to fake the panic I was feeling. "He doesn't get sick," I explained in tears. "He can't keep anything down, the head pain is worse and his neck is stiff. And I want a CT scan NOW."
Worst case scenario, I thought, viral meningitis (well, worse-case scenario that I was allowing myself to accept). Mary Ann had experienced that so Mark knew the drill. We were quickly shuttled into emergency ward, and--mercifully--were given a room right at the end, with walls and a light switch. The glass door and windows could be curtained off, meaning it was quiet and dark. A godsend.
Some hours later, after a CT scan had been performed, the attending doctor came in with a few other people to talk to me. Michael was under again, with pain meds coursing through him. She talked for awhile. I heard words like "brain bleed" and "serious" and "will be admitted to the neurology ICU." "So what you're saying," I said, "is that he could be okay or he could die." She leveled a look at me and said yes, that was right.
I think I swore, then.
"Not what you were expecting to hear, was it?" "Not even remotely," I responded.
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The above photo was designed by Mike and taken by his family after he was moved from his post-ICU bed to a stretcher...he borrowed surgical scissors, tape & a flashlight from his nurses.
