This time, my bride answered. It was my daughter calling to tell us that a) my phone was not working (she called my wife's cell), and b) my son was on the way to the hospital. Just like that. So, after a whopping 3 hours of sleep, I am now wide awake trying to figure out how to assist from 300 miles away.
Tried his cell phone, no answer. Tried the girlfriend's phone, no answer. When I finally reach my son's cell phone, he answers
"Hi-Dad-everything's-fine-yeah-the-paramedics-have-me-on-a-gurney-and-they-have-an-IV-started-but-we're-good-here. What's up?"*blink* *blink*!??!?!!!! What?" (I hate it when he does that...)
I hear the medics in the background as they get his vitals and finish strapping him into the bus. The medic comes onto the phone and basically tells me he is fine, and going to Fairfax Hospital. Then the medic hangs up the phone.
"He's fine, and going to the Hospital"??????????!!!!! Those statements are facially incompatible. I try and call back but no answer, so I call my cell provider instead to work out the issue. (Reboot, reboot, enter some codes, reboot, hold...hold some more, reboot, fixed.)
Well, the reason the medics were called was because he had severe abdominal pain,, Debilitating abdominal pain. Nearly passed-out levels of pain. In other words, he hurt. They thought it was appendicitis. His friends called 911 when he nearly fainted. So, a trip to the hospital, some pain killers, 6+ hours and 3 iodine/radiology tests later, still nothing conclusive.
I checked in nearly hourly by phone, while suffering through a never-ending series of inane gushing American Newsreaders (on every channel) glorifying the marriage of another Elite English Welfare Recipient. You would think we were still loyal subjects of the Crown, to hear them go on about the whole thing.
So every phone call is the same: Nothing new, no results. I take a walk around the hotel.
Finally, out of frustration, I call him back. His room-mate answers the cell phone (he has great friends who stuck with him throughout). I tell the room-mate to tell my son it is probably just gas, and to 'man-up' and deal with it. We have a good laugh about the situation.
He relays the information. :)
An couple of hours later, while stuck in traffic trying to get to the NRA convention, my son finally calls me back. Says he is being discharged. They can't find any evidence of appendicitis (good), and think it is probably...constipation (lolwhut??). They prescribe some meds that *will* get things moving, and advise him to stay near a bathroom for a while just in case they do their thing. Then they kick him back onto the street. Call it the "$4,000 suppository".
Kids these days...(sigh)