NaNoWriMo Day Seven: My Computer Battery Died and It Took a Minute to Charge It.

 Hey Y'all, 

So, I still haven't written a short story. This is more a journaling exercise. I am writing before I have to go to work. I don't want to go. I am closing the store tonight and I don't like doing that.  

Google says that today is Marie Curie's birthday. Happy birthday Marie!

Okay. so here is the beginning of a story I don't want to tell, but needs to come out. I'll try to finish it tonight after work, but it may be tomorrow. 

How He Died

My husband was very sick. I asked him to go to the doctor and he said that he had a whole bunch of appointments in a little over a week and if he still felt bad, he would ask them about it. He complained of his back hurting. he lost his appetite, and he was sleeping a lot. On Monday, I told him that if he still felt bad on Tuesday, then we were going to the hospital. Tuesday came and went and he still felt bad. And I didn't take him. Why didn't I take him? The reasons seem so stupid now. Then it was Thursday. I had an appointment with my therapist and I asked him to go with me. He felt so bad, but he went anyway. My therapist was right down the street from the hospital. I discussed with her what was the best way to get him to go and she said to just take him, When we were done, that's what I did. 

He was pissed. I was afraid that he had dehydrated himself, which was extra concerning because he had Congestive Heart Failure and wasn't able to just take fluids. It had to be done very slowly.  We waited in the lobby for the triage nurse to call us back. Although he was mad, he never really fought going that much. Why didn't I take him on Tuesday? When the triage nurse called his name, I went with him.  The triage nurse was also a man. I explained how I thought he might be dehydrated while the nurse took his blood pressure. Except, his blood pressure was so low, that it wouldn't register on the machine. They hurried him to a room and some things happened and I don't remember what they were.  What I do remember next was that they placed him under this blow up blanket that was heated and he hated it. He kept taking it off , complaining that he was hot. At some point a doctor came in and yelled at me because the blanket was off. She said he had to keep it on. Then, we were alone again. I don't remember talking to him. I think I must have said something about him needing to keep the blanket on and him not liking it. but I don't remember.  The he said "Heidi, help me! Help me!" and he passed out. 

He never really said my name that much. The whole time I knew him, he was making up nicknames for me. He liked to do that, but I always wanted him to say my name more often. I liked the way it sounded coming from his mouth. But not that night. I was by the side of his bed where he had rolled over and he was quiet. I said "Darrell, Darrell?" and then I laughed. I fucking laughed. I do that sometimes when I am nervous, scared, or embarrassed. Why hadn't I taken him to the hospital on Tuesday? Then, the room filed up with people. I walked over and sat down, hoping they wouldn't notice me. I knew that if they noticed me, then I would have to leave. 

heidi

started 11/7/22

word count: 627