My grandfather didn't want to go to the hospital, and I understand his reluctance given that last year when he was admitted for his neck injury, he didn't leave for over four weeks and didn't get home until several months later. He has always been the "I'll suffer in silence" type, but those events have made him doubly reticent to accept medical attention.
I drove them to North Shore Hospital (had they called 911, they would have been taken to Booth Memorial Abattoir because it is the closest medical facility). The doctor looked him over and said that it might be gallstones. After an entire day's worth of tests, the final prognosis was that there was a blockage from his gall bladder that was also somehow effecting his liver. This will require a two-step procedure to clear up, and he's being admitted right now.
While this isn't exactly what I would call a perfect situation, it is better than some of the other possibilites that were coming up. He is and has always been very strong; I'm sure that it is that same pig-headed stubbornness that is so infuriating when trying to get him to do the right thing by himself that keeps him alive.
My mother and I ran into our family physician while in the hospital. He told us if we needed anything to page him. He is the one who expidited my surgery when I was there; since I was admitted on Thanksgiving Weekend, I was scheduled for the operation for several days later. In fact, I was on the boards for the very day I ended up being released from the hospital.
Yesterday was a lot of work and today was emotionally taxing. I hate hospitals, even if some of my best friends work at them. I'm off to bed. Good night.