A slight change of plans.

Well. So. As it turned out, the weekend veered more to the middle-of-the-night-in-the-ER side of the spectrum than the beautiful-mountain-wedding realm. Steve was feeling sub-par long before we left for Estes Park, and we figured he was sufering from a mild case of food poisoning that had mostly worked its way through his system. Though he'd barely eaten since Tuesday night, Steve seemed to perk up when we reached the rehearsal dinner, and he even managed to down some apple pie and cider at the casual hay-loft gathering. But when he left for a break and hadn't returned an hour or so later, I wandered back to our cabin and found him prone on the bed, moaning in discomfort.

After some water and a tummy rub, he seemed to feel better, and we tried to sleep. But at 1:00 a.m., he jostled me awake to tell me he was increasingly miserable and really wanted to get medical attention. Because it was the middle of the night, we discussed trying to make it to the morning before leaving. I thought I could manage to drive his car down to Boulder in daylight, but I knew it would be far too dangerous for me to try to drive in the dark on those winding mountain roads. We turned off the light and I rubbed his back, trying to soothe him into sleep, but it was a fruitless effort. Around 1:30, we threw all our stuff in the car and drove off into the night.

Steve did fine on the drive down to Boulder. We were able to enjoy the beautiful, clear night and we distracted ourselves by keeping up a lively conversation and marvelling at the many elk and deer we saw crouched in the shadows. While I don't think he would have been able to keep going much longer, Steve was holding up well when we pulled into the hospital parking lot at 2:30. The ER staff was lovely, but ridiculously overworked, and it was over two hours before we saw a doctor. The first hour was one long uncomfortable wait in the drafty sitting area; in the second Steve was moved to a bed and started on IV fluids. We'd been frustrated about missing the presidential debate, but I don't think either of us expected to be watching it replayed at 4:00 a.m. in a hospital room.

Sometime around 5:00, the doctor arrived, with little to offer in the way of diagnosis or treatment. After pumping more fluids into Steve and taking an assortment of fluid samples, the hospital staff finally turned us loose shortly before 7 with nothing more than a prescription for Immodium and a fistful of "could bes." We drove the few blocks to my parents' house, let ourselves in (they were away), and collapsed.

Instead of spending Saturday celebrating our friends' marriage, we spent most of the day (or what was left of it after we awoke) wandering slowly around town and taking care of all the errands we've procrastinated because we prefer to spend our weekends playing outside (season ski passes - check; transferring Steve's cell phone service - check; overdue wedding and baby gifts - check; exploring possible gift-registry items - check). We also stopped in to a sports bar for a little while to watch Steve's Wisconsin Badgers trounce Ohio State (and, less happily, my beloved CU Buffs experience the receiving end of an OSU trouncing). My own stomach started misbehaving at some point during the afternoon, although we never managed to determine whether this resulted from a milder form of whatever was plaguing Steve or from the fact that I kept forgetting to eat or drink in the midst of it all. Still, by Sunday, we both felt markedly better, but neither of us was up for much more than wandering through the mall and sitting in the sun.

Today, I am relaxing and recovering and enjoying the federal holiday. I'm feeling better, managed a short run this morning, and have a stack of wedding magazines to while away the afternoon. And Steve must be on the mend, because he called to tell me he ate an entire Illegal Pete's burrito for lunch.