Randy had to go to the Emergency Room yesterday. Seems like a saw at his job decided to take a bite out of him rather than the aluminum that it was supposed to be cutting. It took a nice chunk out of his thumb, requiring four stitches, but Randy (being the manly man man man manly man that he is) just laughed it off and said "Whutever darlin', 'twarn't nuthin'". As for me? I was in a panic. You see, I got a phone call that woke me out of a dead sleep that morning and my husband's first words to me were, "Don't worry, I'm fine", which in MY world means, "Honey I'm bleeding from all orifices, my car blew up, I'm chopped in half, and I'm becoming a Republican". So, of course, I panic.
I get to the Emergency Room to meet him there and since I am 34 weeks pregnant everyone assumes I am there because I am in labor. As I try to explain to everyone rushing up to me with wheelchairs and wet cloths that I am there to meet my husband who was viciously attacked by a power tool, I get no flicker of understanding from any of them. Rather I'm bombarded with "How far apart are your contractions?" and "Are you in pain?". Finally the troops recede and I can get to Randy who is sitting on a chair, white as a sheet (although he'll never admit it), with a bloody rag around his hand. And then they call him in and I wait.
As I wait, the "look at the pregnant lady in the E/R" starts again. I literally had about 7 strangers come up to me, rub my belly and ask me if I was in labor or if the baby was coming. Now mind you, these strangers were all in the E/R for some reason or another and they were coming up to me to rub my belly. What if they had some sort of weird cootie virus and were spreading it to me? And who the fuck goes up to a stranger in the Emergency Room and TOUCHES them? I mean, there was a chick in there with some great tattoos that I wanted to talk to her about, but HALF HER FACE was bloody . Did I say, "Hey nice ink, what's it about?" or did I politely try not to stare at her when it looked like her nose was about to fall off. I think you know which route I took.
After an hour or so, Randy finally comes out with his bandage and we are on our way. I told him that the next time we go to the E/R it had better be because I am in labor 'cause I'm not going to deal with touchy feely E/R again.
On a side note: Randy is fine. He has to be out of work for 2 days and then go for a wound assessment. The stitches will come out in 10 days. His only complaint is that he can't play video games. But he does enjoy the fact that, since he can't get his hand wet, I have to get into the shower with him and bathe him. Rowr Rowr!