Now that the girls are older, we got to sleep in a little on Christmas morning. Once awakened it wasn’t long before the aroma of Santa’s White Christmas coffee and monkey bread filled the air. The only thing missing was the chill. It was hot. I much prefer a little nip in the air for Christmas day but our sub-tropical climate was having none of that.
Presents were opened, breakfast was served and The Christmas Story played on a continuous loop on the TV. It was a glorious morning.
My SIL and BIL came for a simple midday meal of Paula Deen’s standing rib roast, mashed potatoes, salad and Parkerhouse rolls. The roast came out of the oven. My Harley Stud whipped the mashed potatoes after I seasoned them to perfection (IMHO) and I didn’t forget and burn the rolls. My SIL and I were happily chopping veggies for the salad while everyone else readied the table settings. I’m really quite the whiz with my beloved Wusthof Santoku knife. Unfortunately I’m also quite the motor mouth when there is someone there to listen. So as I regaled my SIL with some silly nonsense about so and so, I got a wee bit carried away while chopping the romaine and almost whacked off the end of my thumb.
After quickly inspecting the damage over the kitchen sink, it was determined that a trip to the Emergency Room was in order. MHS and I instructed the family to carry on with dinner and off we went to find a good seamstress.
The woman at the registration desk in the ER asked me to state my name and my problem. As she searched for any previous record of me in the computer, I assured her that I have never been treated in that facility. That’s when she said, “You’re 49?”
I swear to God, if she had said, “You look tired” after that, I would have slugged her but I wouldn’t have been surprised. Defensively I replied, “Why! Do I look older?” She quickly responded with, “NO! You look much younger. I was questioning if this could even be you.”
As it turns out, while I’ve never been treated at that hospital, I do have my mammograms at a women’s center nearby that is owned by the hospital, hence my info in the system.
And that is how I found my new best friend. Yes, I can be bought and flattery will get you everywhere. I love you, Ms. ER Reception lady with all my heart.
But I digress. Two hours later, I’m called back to see the doctor. I’m asked several times to verify that I am in fact Smart Mouth Broad. It seems that another patient answered to my name when I wasn’t listening and caused the medical professionals some confusion as to why her thumb wasn’t bleeding. Nevertheless, they treated her anyway as I waited and waited and waited. No worries though. I had the forethought to bring the DS so MHS and I could play Sudoku while we waited. Well, MHS played while I learned the art of thumbless texting, tweeting and facebooking.
MHS was at my side the whole time but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t get the hot doctor, right? Where was my George Clooney? I mean if a girl has to go to the ER on Christmas day, doesn’t she deserve a hot ER doc? Just sayin.
Apparently not because hot he was not. But he was nice and apparently adequate to the task at hand. (pun intended) After being asked for my pain level on the scale of 1-10, 1 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, I answered with a very brave “2, maybe 3.” Don’t you hate that question? I realize it has to be asked but do they really expect an intelligent answer? Like I have the concentration to sit and flip thru my entire life history of pain to compare it to the pain I’m feeling right now. Well, there was that time I fell on my head while turning a back handspring in the gym in 1977. Do we really want to go there? Because anyone who knows me knows how I can go on and on. Let it suffice to say, “It hurts, dammit! Let’s get on with it.”
But it really didn’t hurt that bad………………………….until he got out that leetle needle to numb it. I’m fairly certain doing the whole procedure sans anesthesia would have been preferable to the pain and suffering encountered at the mercy of that tiny little needle. While he stitched me up, he proceeded to give me instructions on the care and keeping of such a wound. He mentioned something about the fact that it look “a little blue” already and “it might not take.” What the….! Excuse me, could you repeat that? “Yeah, it might not take in which case we’ll refer you to a surgeon who will TAKE IT OFF and it will heal from the inside out.” Huh? At that point, I figured the less I knew the better and I changed the subject.
“Is there any reason I can’t go to a dinner party tonite?”, I asked. To which I was told to PARTY ON. We were expected that night at our dear friends, Miss Lolly (of the DAMN WARM CIDER fame) and Wolfgang’s for dinner. Sadly, by the time we got home, Daughter #1 wasn’t feeling well and I was pretty much spent from all the excitement. I called Miss Lolly with our regrets and we made raincheck plans. We spent the rest of the evening on the couch watching movies and drinking wine. Party on, indeed!
So…………………………………….how was your Christmas?
Smart Mouth Broad