Apparently I saved my husband's life... or at least, some portion of his anatomy.
An outpatient procedure led to an infection, which he'd seen the doctor for and was on his second course of antibiotics, because the first lot hadn't kicked it. It'd been weeks since the operation.
One morning I woke up and realized he wasn't in bed. Went out to the living room and found him sitting there, moaning in pain. I told him he needed to go to the hospital, and he said, "No... I'm fine..."
So, I called a cab, stuffed him into the back of it, and told the cabbie to take him to the emergency room.
A couple hours later, a doctor calls me and says, "I'm so glad you got him in when you did! Another half hour, and I think he would have ruptured and gone septic. We've got him on intravenous antibiotics now, and he's been admitted."
My poor husband was hospitalized for almost two weeks, while they fought the infection. Every day I'd pack up the kids (infant and toddler) and we'd go sit on the bus for an hour in order to go and visit Daddy.