Emergency Room Is Never Convenient

Why does it seem that you have weekends that are relatively free and then nine things hit on one weekend? A couple of the children’s Godmothers from Tulsa, OK came into town for the Twins’ First Communion along with Kevin’s parents so we had four folks in from out of town. We were invited to a Nigerian Baby Naming Ceremony  Saturday afternoon (many wore traditional Nigerian dress- it was so cool!), followed by a Kentucky Derby Watch Party (hats required-very fun), and finally a neighbor’s Cinco de Mayo adult birthday party (super fun as well). The Twins’ First Communion was Sunday, followed by a party at our house. Not that there is ever a genuinely convenient time to have go to an emergency room, but I’m going to say that hanging out at one all night when you have four folks in town and a full day of activities planned the next day is not the ideal time.

I’m one of those people who likes to make themselves useful at parties. I noticed the wine was not on ice at the Nigerian Baby Naming Ceremony, so I made fast with the ice. I’m the dolt that picks up plates and puts cups into the dishwasher at other people’s houses. I don’t recall doing anything helpful at the Kentucky Derby party but we all have our off moments. I’m usually a good egg to have around. Except when I create unintended drama. So, it was at the third party of the day that I sliced my hand open when the glass I was washing, apparently too vigorously, attacked me.There was a neurosurgeon at the party, but did you know they don’t travel with suture kits in their pockets? He didn’t even have hand sanitizer or remotely anything useful for stupid ladies with gashed hands that won’t stop bleeding. My poor friend, Darby, was enlisted to drive me to the E.R. Since no good deed goes unpunished, she had the pleasure of staying with me all night. We were in the E.R. from 11:30-7:30 a.m. to get four stitches. Handy tip: if you have to cut yourself, don’t do it on Saturday night. Especially don’t do it on a Saturday night that is a holiday of sorts (Cinco de Mayo). It could have been worse. I could have cut myself on a certified drinking holiday like St. Patrick’s Day. I was a zombie in search of a brain all the next day.