Sorry I haven’t offered an update sooner…
I spent Thursday night with my friend in the emergency room in Frankfort. She had not been able to eat in a week and anything she drank had been going straight through her for three days. She had planned to go to the doctor on Thursday, but decided she didn’t need to, even though she was “awfully weak” and was getting dizzy when she stood up. I called her and gave her a good reaming out, telling her that she could go to the emergency room now and get treated by competent medical professionals, or wait until Saturday when she passes out at the wedding so she can be treated by me. I met her at the ER, where she got three liters of fluid, then I spent the night on her couch. (Her fiance was at his bachelor party, and was not answering his pager or his cell phone, despite the fact that she specifically asked him to take it since she might have to go to the hospital. Jerk.)
Friday morning, when I left for work, she was planning to not have the wedding, but to just throw the big party and wait on the ceremony. Sometime before that afternoon, though, she decided to go through with it. The way I understand it, when she started calling people (including her mother) to tell them she had been to the hospital, they didn’t ask if she was OK–they asked about the wedding. They did move it inside, since she would probably not have made it if they had it outside.
The ceremony was, in a word, sad. She looked like she had stitched a smile onto her face; her eyes didn’t agree with it. It was one of those weddings where most of the people there are the old relatives and friends of parents; there was one pew of her friends, and we just sat there and tried not to strain something rolling our eyes (especially when he said he’d be with her “in sickness and in health”). Notably, they left out the part about anyone having any objections; I’m sure that was on purpose.
Her mother thanked me profusely for making her go to the ER, but later told the other friend that was with us, “I’m glad she’s feeling better. I guess she just needed a mother’s love.” Yeah, a mother’s love, three liters of normal saline IV, and a one-way ticket somewhere, bitch, but I haven’t exactly seen you offer any of the three. The reception was equally sad, I hear, since all of her friends left quickly to avoid getting fed up and saying the wrong thing.
So today they’re on a plane to St. Somewhere, probably fighting all the way. My greatest fear is that she won’t divorce him; she’ll just put up with it and be miserable from now on. None of it has made any sense to us, but we’re glad just to have it overwith; we can have an emotional break before things start falling apart again.
Thanks for the advice, everybody.
Dr. J