Not What I Had Planned (Marc's Surgery, Part 1)

Y'all know I'm a planner.

So naturally, I had our Christmas plans all set.

We'd leave Milledgeville on the 23rd,
have our Reagan Christmas on the 24th,
spend the night with Katie and the kids on Christmas Eve,
go to church on Christmas Morning,
drive to Pelham Christmas Night,
have Christmas with Mama and Jeff, Christy and Nathan on the 26th,
see Daddy later that day,
hang low on the 27th, Brian's birthday...his first in Heaven,
come home on the 28th.

I even knew what I'd do with the rest of my Christmas break...
take down my decorations,
work on a few paintings,
 maybe read a new book.

Well, God had other plans...
and we barely got through opening gifts with Mama and Jeff
before our Christmas took an ugly turn.

Actually, it started Christmas night.
As we left Granny and Papa's house,
Marc mentioned he'd unbuttoned his pants.
I thought he'd eated too much.
We had steak, salad, bread, baked potatoes.
Turns out that was his last meal.

I awoke about 5:00 the morning after Christmas.
I was hot
(that's a South Georgia Christmas for ya!)
and Marc was not in bed.
I found him in the living room
(we were staying at his parents' house...well, I still am!)
and he said his stomach was bothering him and he couldn't sleep.

By 6:30, we were at my Mama's house,
waking them all up to open gifts.
Somehow, it never feels like Christmas until I celebrate with Mama.
We opened gifts then had breakfast.
Marc isn't much of a fan of breakfast casseroles,
but he hardly even touched his cheese grits.

We ended up falling asleep all over the house,
and I woke up on the couch...cold.
(that's a South Georgia Christmas for ya!)
I crawled in bed with my sister
and woke up later to find out
Marc's stomach was still bothering him.

He assured me every time I asked
 that he was able to go to the bathroom.
Ever since we rushed him to the ER in Thomasville
when my Uncle Stacy died,
I'm paranoid about a blockage.
But when I heard his burps...my intuition told me something was up.
It just sounded...different.
Just like it did when we ended up in the ER.

Again, Marc assured me he was fine.
We were headed to my Daddy's house to celebrate with him,
but I really felt like Marc would be more comfortable
going back to his parents' house,
so he could lay down.
I was still in pjs and slippers, but I drove across town.
As we passed the hospital, I half-jokingly said,
"Should I just pull on in?"
Marc...dead serious...said, "Maybe."

I knew this wasn't good, but now I was seriously concerned.
I flew to his parents' house...
(Marc says it took forever...I don't know which of us is right!)
my sister following me so I could ride with them to Daddy's house.
I  threw the car in park,
left Marc crawling out the passenger seat,
ran to the house,
yelled "MAMA!!!"
threw on jeans and shoes.
In the 30 seconds it took me to rejoin them outside,
Marc was on his knees in the grass, dry-heaving.
Mrs. Debbie, Mr. Terry and Christy surrounding him.
Christy made Nathan stay in the car.
I don't even remember getting in Mrs. Debbie's car...
but several minutes later...
we were in the ER.

Christmas became a blur.