Drama featuring lots of commas

So ... yeah.

Prior to Wednesday, here at the Burrow, in the Evil Genius Compound, I was the person most likely get scuffed, scratched, banged, gashed, stomped on, or run over.  I'm the one with a family history of breast cancer, the clumsy one, the asthmatic, the one who has a seizure disorder, the one who plays with chainsaws, and drives too fast.

But last Wednesday, my 33 year old husband, Bodog, apparently in an effort not to be outdone, had a heart attack.

No.  I'm not kidding.

Heart.  Attack.

Wednesday morning, he felt like he had a bit of food stuck in his esophagus. His chest felt tight and uncomfortable and he couldn't eat or drink anything (everything came right back up immediately). So he went to Lexington Medical Center Urgent Care (*spits on ground*) in Chapin SC, and they charged him a wad of dosh to tell him that they thought he had an esophageal obstruction (thank you, dickheads, that was our best guess, too.  So much for consulting professionals.) and he should hie himself to an emergency room.

(Amusing aside: they insisted on Lexington. 'Scuse me whilst I wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes.)

Bodog, meanwhile, left and drove himself straight to our preferred hospital's emergency room in Columbia.

(I, at this time, was in Newberry - 20 min away from Chapin and almost a hour away from Columbia - with all the children.)

So we met him in the ER at Baptist (an hour later) where he said that, happily, whatever was 'stuck' had gotten unstuck while he was checking in.  He had had sudden, horrible nausea, sharp chest pains, then it subsided and he felt better (this happened right there in the check in).

He was then relieved of $100 and sent back to see the doc who x-rayed him and told him that he had reflux and gave him a 'script.

Since everything was (supposedly) peachy, we then split up - he took Bulk and Fiver and himself home for naps, and I took the bigs with me to finish my errands.

An hour later he rings me, sounding like he can't catch his breath:

"Blue, what do I do if my left arm hurts so badly I can't sleep?"

Answer: DIAL 911.

Now remember, I'm in Columbia.  He's heading for Newberry. We'd swapped places, still apart by about an hour.  Also, he had Bulk and Fiver.

So I'm on I-26 with V for Vandetta in the wind and the Newberry dispatch on the line. (When i finally got them.  I got Richland county - perhaps because my cell is local to Columbia? - who sent me to Lexington (*spits on ground*) who was RUDE to me* before I got routed to Newberry)

ANYway, the v. sweet Newberry dispatcher (she called me 'hun' for goodness's sake), calmly told me that Bodog had been transported already (Newberry County EMS farkin rawks!)  and that my children were safe "with emergency personnel".

Forty-five minutes later I haul arse down my own road to find two big white EMS pickups and an ambulance grouped around my front gate. I slid in behind one of the pickups like Dale Jr pitting, lept out, and found three tall, lean, amiable, and capable Newberry EMS blokes watching over my children.  Fiver was still in his crib asleep and Bulk was chatting happily in the kitchen with the youngest guy.

If I could have kissed them, I would have. (The EMS blokes, not my kids.  Those youngest two are sticky.)
So, long story short (too late!) Bodog is in Providence Hospital in Columbia (an excellent heart hospital).  They did a heart cath Wednesday night, put in two stents.  He has a heavy family history of heart disease (his dad was just a guest of Providence for EXACTLY the same thing), and this, coupled with his diabetes, seems to have been the culprit(s).

Looked like he was the youngest guest in the NCCU and now he's in his own room, doing well.

Next question ... when can I have my Evil Genius HOME?!

PS ... if anyone has any Get Rich Quick schemes or winning lottery numbers handy, I'd be grateful, LOL. These medical bills coupled with Mr Primary Bread Winner missing a lot of work is gonna reeeeeeeeeeeally hurt us. Oy!

PPS, woke up this morning with a dreadful cold.  Bloody great. *rolls eyes*

*Yeah, this Lexington county bitch was a real gem.  I'm v. organised and calm during crises - it's one of my few skills. When I ring 911 I don't ramble, I state the facts right up front: my name, the emergency, the location, etc.  So i rattled all of it off to the Richland bloke and he realises that he's the wrong county and transfers me to Lexington.  So I'm quickly repeating the info (name, emergency, locatio--) and bitch cuts me off and snaps: "Ma'am, calm down!"

Oh, erm, sorry? 

Honey, if I'm weeping, or yelling, or cursing, then you may tell me to calm down.  If I'm speaking too quickly for your ill-formed white trash brain, then you may ask me to slow down. Otherwise, if I'm just trying to impart the information that you farkin requested, then you need to re-adjust your attitude or find another job.