Adventures in the Emergency Room

Yesterday, I was in bed with the flu. I lay there moaning and groaning and begging My First Wife for some sympathy. I don’t know why I even tried: I never got any in the past. But in the middle of the afternoon…

When My First Wife was about to enter the grocery store, she slipped on something and fell. She ripped a five inch gash across her knee. After the hullabaloo at the store settled down a little, she called me.

Well, My First Wife is more important than my health. I kinda got outta bed, got sorta dressed and hustled down to the store. That five inch gash was also half an inch wide! There was blood everywhere you looked. To put it mildly: it was a mess! EMTs were just about to slip her into the ambulance. “Cool,” she said. Off they went to The Big City ER with me in distant pursuit (I got all the red lights).

Well, four hours and forty stitches later—Yes, forty! stitches—I brought her home and fixed her a store-bought chicken dinner. She’s in a lot of pain and in one of those full-length leg stabilizers. And propped up on the couch like the Queen of Sheba.

On the bright side, she’s getting lots of e-mail and phone calls. “Oh, you poor thang! What can I do to help? Can we fix you anything, Hunny? Can we bring you anything?”

Please pray for My First Wife. Not that she needs any sympathy…