Plans sure can change. Instead of getting ready to go out tonight to see Jimmy Wayne I am instead sitting in the Huntsville Hospital with my husband, who is sick as a dog. This is like bad deja vous. We have done this so many times in our marriage. I used to keep count of how many times one of our immediate family (Jimmy, me or one of the kids) has been in the hospital, but I gave up.

We've had our share, that's for sure. I don't mean to bitch about it, but it gets freaking old. I know people who have been married as long as us and nobody has ever been sick, much less in the hospital.

Here are just a few admissions:

Mystery pain about 4 times
Ruptured appendix (the reason for the mystery pain)
endometrial ablation
hysterectomy
infant sleep apnea (twice)
knee surgery
gall bladder surgery
kidney removal
blood clot

Oh, and I could go on. And on. And this isn't counting stuff like ER visits, nephritis, outpatient surgeries, etc.

I'm just depressed. I keep waiting for the time when nothing is going to be wrong. We've always joked about the "Rowell curse" we have, but it's not too freaking funny anymore.

I really, really need to vent today. People who think I'm crazy for traveling and who say things like, "I don't see how Jimmy puts up with it" can kiss my ass. They have no clue what is going on in my family or the relationship my husband and I have. What is so wrong about trying to squeeze a little pleasure out of life in between the crises? He has his music, I have my traveling. It makes us happy to do these things and takes our minds off the stresses of day to day life. And it's none of anybody's damn business.

Now. I would say I feel better, but I don't. I'll get past it. When my Jimmy is better. I'm really worried about him.