As I was walking towards the elevator from my office at the close of the day, a secretary wished me a pleasant evening. I thanked her for her warm wishes, and commented that I planned to retire early this evening.
And then, as if on cue, my cell phone rang.
It was the babysitter, letting me know that Norbert had been playing outside on his scooter, hit a crack in the sidewalk, and had fallen ass over teakettle.
When we picked him up, he looked scraped, but fine. When we got home, I went to apply neosporin and determined that a cut under his lip, made by his front teeth, was much deeper than my comfort level could accommodate.
So off we went to the emergency room at Comer Children's Hospital. I can't remember which circle of hell Dante assigned this place to, but it was one of the inner ones.
The place was packed. And loud. There were two bigass plasma televisions blasting "102 Dalmatians" on a repeat loop. There was the woman sitting next to us who was telling police that she suspected one of the four men at her babydaddy's house had sexually assaulted her 6 month old daughter...who was crying nonstop. (And her mother, Bless her, was really doing her best to hold it together for her baby, which couldn't have been easy.) Add to that the surreal conversation between the desk clerk and the muslim woman in an extensive black veil who only really understands one word of English -- Comer. She kept saying Comer and pointing in a direction that was NOT Comer Children's Hospital and the clerk pretty much said, over and over again, "Oh yes, Comer! I have no idea what you are saying, sweety. Come back when you can talk better."
Later, while we were in an exam room, they were wheeling a...um...body of a child...past our room. I'm not certain if I shall ever be the same again. And then, on the way out, we had to walk around the huge -- 5 ft in diameter -- pool of blood in the lobby.
I have never been so happy to leave a place ...except for maybe that K-Street sex party where Karl Rove wanted to do a threeway with me and Condi Rice and Grover Norquist got jealous and threatened to put everyone in Illinois out of jobs if I didn't go out with him. I don't know how many times I said "Grover, I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last fascist Muppet on Earth." It hasn't quite sunk in though...just yesterday he called and said that, with Karl Rove "about to go back to working a Jack-in-the-Box in Austin like he deserves" that if I met him for coffee, he'd have a former boss of mine who treated me poorly put on the No Fly list, declared an enemy combatant, AND give his name and all his numbers to the National Amway Sales database.
That was hard to resist. He's taking me to a Patsy Cline retrospective in Southwest Michigan. Myfanwe says I don't have to put out unless we travel more than 200 miles.
I know this will surprise you, but I totally got off on a tangent.
Norbert ended up with superglue stitches, which I have to say are SOOOOO much less traumatic than sutures. And the opinion was that they will leave less of a scar and have less of a risk of infection.
Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Does anyone know how and have the talent to create lovely little banner/button for my blog? I dfon't really know what I want, yet. I love knitting lace, Knitting anything. Julia Child. Cookbooks, chef's knife. butter and garlic. I'm stymied.
The sleeping pill is clicking in....I think I shall sllep.
D-g Bless you all.