David is on his way to see the GI doctor. He had another painful attack last night after dinner and then I spent an hour or so asking him symptom questions from WebMd. I'd say things like:
"Is it stabbing or throbbing?"
"Is it severe or moderate?"
And he'd say things like, "I don't know. It just hurts, okay?" all the while sweating profusely.
"On a scale from one to ten, what is your pain level?"
He was pacing the house by now and yelled from the living room, "I don't know."
WebMd didn't know what it was, and only recommended we head to the hospital immediately. (Thanks a lot.)
David said, "We already did that."
And just as I was about to pack him into the car regardless, it stopped.
And then David asked me about a hundred times, "What do you think it is?" And I reminded him that while I am usually always right, I am not a doctor. (Of course in the back of my mind, I was just the teensiest bit worried about that E. Coli colony Caleb and I have been growing. I decided not to mention it.)
While I was on WebMd, I saw an article about "little things that make a big difference." And they said that brushing your teeth with your non-dominant hand can help with depression, and can actually alter your brain chemistry. What in the world? (About that time I started questioning whether or not we should really be getting our medical advice from the internet.) But this morning I tried it, because while I'm not depressed, who doesn't want to be happier? Even just a little. The downside is that I do not think I got my teeth quite as clean. And so while I'm happier, I may have just increased my chances of gingivitis and tooth decay. Which is ironic, since now I'm doing so much more smiling.