And that’s how I met your mother, maybe

Want to hear an interesting story?

Well, perhaps not because it’s not relevant to you.

But…

To someone else, like your children, if they ever listen to anything you say, I’m sure there’s always an interesting story in how you met your spouse, or each of them if you’ve been married more than once,

Or…

You didn’t marry them but just live together.

We live in a complicated world, one that fortunately for some, is not ruled by a piece of paper.

Fortunately, I have only one and thank God for that.

Oh, you want to know the story?

Boring, we worked together, hated each other, and when I left for a new job, we just sort of started going out.  How does that work?

It could be said God works in mysterious ways.

However…

That’s not the story.

Over the years we can intentionally or unintentionally run into each other, quite unexpected.  For some, this might mean they discover their spouse, girlfriend, boyfriend, partner, significant other (or whatever) with someone else.

That’s a bad day.

Then you can almost be run down by a hospital bed, that, lo and behold, you find is the bed bringing your spouse back to the hospital ward.

Yep, nearly got run over by it.

By a strange quirk of coincidence, I arrived at the ward at the same time my wife did.  There could be something like karma in all of this, nearly being run down by the motorized bed she was being transported from the recovery ward.

But only she would see the humor in that.

When I rang the ward nurse prior to coming to the hospital, to see if she had arrived in the ward, they said she was in transit.  That was 50 minutes before I left for the hospital, so it was a long, long, transit.

Of course, it’s been a long day but it seems I was more worried about the day’s events than she was.  That, I suppose, it’s s good thing because if our roles were reversed I would have been in a blind panic by the time we got to the hospital, prior to the admission.

And the surgery was not one that could be taken lightly, at the heart of it the removal of a 35cm section of the bowel because of the possibility of cancer.

After a five hour wait after leaving her in the hands of hospital staff, always with the lingering thought it might be the last time I see her alive, the doctor called and said everything went fine.

So, its another trip to the hospital, out of visiting hours, another running the gamut of finding a parking spot, though had I known it, there was one right outside the night entrance, good to know if I need to come again, and a happy end to what could have been a traumatic day.

It’s no wonder I don’t like hospitals, either as a visitor, which I have been on numerous occasions, or a patient, which I try very hard to keep to a minimum.

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