About six Friday morning my husband awoke, doubled in pain, saying, "Ow, ow," and complained when he peed he had blood in his urine.

I immediately thought of my neighbor who is undergoing radiation for prostate cancer, I thought of John's brother, who passed away this summer of a heart attack. I thought I probably smell, but I don't care. I threw on some clothes, did NOT brush my teeth, awoke my daughter -- "We're going on an adventure!" -- and drove my husband to the hospital.

I let him off in front of the emergency room while we found a parking space.

"Yes, Mimi, this is where you were born. No, maybe we'll go into your birthing story and Mommy's loud screams a little later, OK?"

By the time we got to the emergency room, my husband was already in a hospital gown and laying on a gurney.

I pulled the light cloth down so it covered his underwear. I know a little something about hospitals and a lack of dignity.

Mimi had her Nintendo DS, I know, bad Mommy, but also smart Mommy since she was preoccupied.

The nurse, who was good, and efficient, had already given John pain medication and muscle relaxants.

He complained of feeling light headed.

"That's what pain pills do," I explained. He never takes anything stronger than aspirin. I told the nurse, "He's a guy. When you ask him about his pain level he's probably underestimating it. He's not much for hospitals, no offense."

She smiled. She had seen his macho type before.

While they took John upstairs for an MRI, I took Mimi to the cafeteria for breakfast. It was like a toy store. Stacks of fresh pancakes, eggs, orange juice. I had black coffee. 

After she was sated we went downstairs in time for the X-rays to arrive. 

"Don't go there," I thought to myself. "Wait to hear the prognosis before freaking out."

"It's just what we suspected," the nurse said. "Kidney stones. Two."

Painful yes. Fatal no. They gave John more medication and he passed a stone. Since his pain level was tolerable they let him go home.

When we got there, John announced that he felt much better. In fact, so good that he could still go camping.  Why not just go outside and lift a truck off the ground with his bare hands? I explained that he wasn't going camping. He wasn't going anywhere. He was going to stay home, rest and watch sports.

After a short protest, he acquiesced. I called my stepson at his mother's, told him his father had just come back from the hospital and they wouldn't be going camping, but he should come over.

I never did get my writing retreat. But I got something better. My family and their health.

By Dawn Yun