It's two o'clock in the morning.
I'm supposed to be sleeping, but my mind is still racing from the past 4 hours I spent in a local emergency room.
Before I continue: I'm fine, Mom. Don't call.
Arriving at the E.R. at 10pm, I honestly thought I would be the only one there. But there was a mass of humanity at that hour that I did not expect.
There was "punched in the face" guy who insisted on calling all his loved ones even though his swollen lips could barely speak a word. A lot of drama with that one.
There was "I love chasing my toddler" woman ... whose little one ran away from her at least 20 times, laughing all the while. The slowness to her steps betrayed her tiredness of the game.
There was "marijuana shirt" girl.
There was "I will do anything to help my son" man.
There were two bajillion people with the flu there and I did my best to stand in a corner far, far away from all of them.
I tried my best to shun the very, very cliché and overly trying-to-be-art hanging on the walls. Call me snobby, but it was hideous and I think it was intentionally so: They don't want us loitering, after all.
I did have the opportunity to answer the ever-prickly "Do you work" question. "Yes," I said sweetly, "I'm a stay at home mom." And the lady registering my information gave me that knowing look of respect; I can only imagine she has two little ones at home pulling her hair out.
And, as luck would have it, all my killer symptoms seemed to disappear when the doctor entered the room. He did his best to make my condition look worse than it was, but at the end of the day, I can pop a few pills to make them, hopefully, disappear.
I distinctly remember him asking, "On a scale of 1 to 10, how much pain are you experiencing?"
"I would say... a 'four,'" I told him frankly.
He wasn't amused. "A four? You don't need to be worried about that level of pain."
"Yes," I said, "but I need to save the 'ten' for childbirth-type pain."
He smiled at that one. I was happy to amuse this midnight doctor; it will help to quell the pain of the doctor bill later.
"But I was funny," I will tell my husband as he furrows his brow at the hospital bill.
I was a little humiliated because the symptom that I thought was going
to lead me into surgery tonight turned out to be far less evil than
anticipated. I quieted my pride and thanked God that it was so. The doctor gave it a "grown up" sounding name and some official paperwork with a script to make me feel less like a whiny patient.
At the end of the day, I saw humanity. And I prayed for them. I prayed for the teenage boy groaning. I prayed for the weary parents running after their toddlers. I thanked God that I didn't have to bring my own entertainment, aka- "Eve." And while I didn't like the mauve-flavored artwork in room 21, I did enjoy the wallpaper, so I focused on that instead.
All in all, a good night.
Now: Good night.
