Lachlan's P.O.V.
Rob didn't like to complain, even when he was really hurting, because he hated worrying me. He knew about my anxiety and everything that got me on edge, so when he was sick or injured he tended to keep his mouth shut until he was well enough that it didn't effect his daily life again.
I actually noticed that Rob was in pain about noon on a Wednesday, when he was down for lunch after an already long day of recording. When he thought I wasn't looking a saw the pinched look come across his face and his hand pressed against his lower abdomen.
"Are you alright?" I asked, startling him from his thoughts. He nodded hurriedly, just confirming that something was wrong and he didn't want to tell me what was bothering him.
I resolved that I was going to find out what was going on, and then confront him about it.
Over the next few hours I kept a close eye on him, and noticed a few more things off about him. I saw him wince a couple of times in our calls and when he was coming down the stairs he had to stop for a second, his hand on his stomach, to regain his balance.
It was worst when we were trying to go to sleep though. I was normally the first asleep and I was a heavy sleeper too, so I pretended to be asleep, curled up on one side of the bed facing away from him with my eyes open. It was horrific.
Rob was tossing and turning, pulling on the blankets and he also got up a couple of times to go to the bathroom. It was almost like he was feverish, but he was letting out low groans of pain through gritted teeth that made my heart pang.
It took another hour before I just couldn't take it anymore, I couldn't take his groans of pain without me comforting him, so I rolled over.
"Rob?" I asked, my voice high and scared as he let out another muted groan. "What's going on? Please, you're hurting, I want to know what's wrong."
"I- I don't know." He said through gritted teeth, not even seeming startled that I was awake. "My stomach's so... so sore-" He gaped as he tried to roll over, "I don't know what's wrong."
Something in the back of my mind told me that something was really wrong, and if something really was wrong then the hospital might be the best option. I sat up in bed and shuffled over to his side, Rob's hands clasped around his stomach.
"I'm just gonna life your shirt okay, tell me where it hurts." I gently pulled up the base of his shirt and he groaned again, his eyes almost rolling into the back of his head with pain.
At first I thought it was normal, but then I noticed slight swelling on the right side of his lower stomach. I gestured to the area, not willing to touch it.
"Is that where it hurts?" Rob nodded, grimacing, and a sudden realization overcame me. "Oh. I think it might be appendicitis."
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It took literally an hour before Rob was rushed into surgery with a burst appendix, and I was sitting in the hallway, bouncing my leg. I had called 911 and there had been an ambulance sent to the house because it was a serious injury that could lead to infection if it wasn't sorted at once.
Rob was taken into hospital by the ambulance in quite a fair amount of pain, was seen by the doctor and it was confirmed his appendix had burst and then he was rushed to surgery, no more questions asked. I didn't even have time to ask what was going on, how long the surgery would take, that was how fast everything was moving.
Eventually a nurse came up to me to ask why I was there, and she answered my questions about what was going on. The surgery was expected to take about an hour, if there were no complications, and Rob could be released anywhere from 24 to 36 hours afterwards, again if there were no complications.
I was also told that I was in the right place, the ward for recovery after minor surgery was directly down the hall, so if I were to wait there then a nurse would come and get me once he was out and in recovery. As much as it was a relief to hear that I still couldn't stop bouncing my leg nervously, worried something might happen.
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In the end his surgery took a little over an hour and he was out on the recovery ward, awake and talking though still groggy and sore, after a short time. I really was trying to act worried and concerned, but he was still majorly loopy from the drugs that I could help but crack a smile every time he opened his mouth,
"Lachyyyyyy" He whined, pouting. "I wan' hugs." He sounded like a 6 year old.
"I know you do Rob but your stomach is stitched up and you're in hospital. Maybe we can cuddle when you get home." Again, he pouted.
"But I wan' hugs now." He reached his arms out for me, ignoring the fact that he had stitches in his stomach, and winced. "Lachyyyy. Don' ignore me."
I told ahold of his hand and gently pushed him back onto the bed, making him lie down.
"I'm not ignoring you, you just need to lie down. You need to take care of yourself, then you can go back to doing stupid stuff and ignoring everything I say." This time he poked his tongue out.
"You're mean."
"I know. But you're 6."
"Hey!" He said, loudly. "I am not!"
"Are too."
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As much as I worried, Rob was fine and was released after 40 hours with some pain relief and instructions not to exert himself for at least 3 weeks. I knew I was going to be taking those instructions seriously because there was no way Rob was going to end up back in hospital because I hadn't taken the doctors orders seriously.
I knew he would complain and whinge and whine and annoy me to get his own way, but I was serious about this one. He could complain all he want, I wasn't giving in.
The first night was alright, Rob just passed out in bed the second we got home even though it was only 4pm and I was able to spend some time alone without worrying about him. He had been drowsy from his pain medication, so fell asleep with no trouble.
I looked over at him, lying in bed, from where I was on the couch, sighing.
"Honesty Rob, you get into so much shit. What am I gonna do with you?" I was giggling as I said it though, sincere about what I was saying. "You're an idiot."