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My mom is spending the night at the hospital due to an event this morning. She had bad stomach pain that resulted in her collapsing at church. (Collapsing means she never blacked out, she just got so weak she had to sit down, but as she was trying to get to the floor, her legs collapsed under her. And she couldn't get back up. Which is unusual in a perfectly strong 57-year-old.)
She spent a few hours in the emergency room, but not too long considering she came by ambulance and she came when no one else was there. They did tests, which she passed beautifully with no issues. Her blood pressure was elevated at 116/64. (For my mother, grandmother, aunt and I, that's high. At least with regards to that top number.)
She's spending the night in the cardiac wing because the emergency room doctors just swear it's her heart. Mom thinks it's the Plavix she just started on Friday. The ER doc claims it couldn't be that, but another doctor who's a specialist and who she's seen before came by and thinks it is the Plavix. They'll be doing a stress test in the morning and monitoring enzymes in her urine, which our hope is comes up clean, because that means not her heart. Then tomorrow afternoon they're doing that scoping thing down her throat to see if she has an ulcer. The odds are much higher on that front, because she's had stomach issues for awhile.
To me, the funniest moment was when the pastor and a couple of neighbors were there. The pastor decides to pray, and asks mom what she wants him to pray for. Mom says "healing". I piped in "diagnosis". Due to five people praying outloud at once, I'm not sure if he prayed for the diagnosis, but that's what I was concentrating on. Because half the battle is knowing. And this is Randolph Hospital - 9/10ths of the battle is getting a diagnosis.
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NASCAR
Why yes, I am gleeful over today's race. There may be an edict in place that my mother has to watch the beginning of every race from here to the end of the year, just to jinx Jimmie. She apparently has magical powers.
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