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Tales from the emergency room

Monday, October 13, 2008

I was at emergency room for the second time in a week this weekend. Now that I have your attention, it's actually all pretty much mundane. On the plus side, the second time around I knew I wanted to hit that coffee machine with the French vanilla.

The first time was for my son, who had shoulder pain but was diagnosed with a stomach bug. I saw the coffee machine, but I wasn't able to get any. I did get a bottle of Mountain Dew, though. Not quite the same.

The second time for my brother, who may have had a stomach bug, was diagnosed with a heart bug, and walked out with a brother who was just plain bugged. Still, it wasn't without some sort of morbid entertainment value (notwithstanding I watched three hours of a 3rd Rock marathon).

To wit, when we entered, and telling the admitting nurse he had stomach pains, the first question was (with an air of exasperation), "Were you at the festival?" Um, no. Then, right behind us entered a family there to see their mother: "She was on the hayride."

The hayride? The hayride? Must be something indeed to be identified by a definite article. And indeed it was. Because no one was killed, it was chuckle-worthy that it was referred to as not just any ol' hayride, but "the" hayride.

Also, we learned that apparently, some nurses have a sense of humor, and some don't. And the ones that don't are really downers. Totally killed the mood. At least the one with the needle laughed.

So we learned a few things: festival food, no matter how tasty, is bad for you; hayrides are just as bad for you; and the French vanilla coffee out of the hospital machine is damned tasty. I think I may need to go back.

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