"I really wish I had one of those safe can openers that Pampered Chef sells." This was the last thought that went through my mind before the thought, "oh no, not again".I am no June Cleaver. I do not clean unless I think someone is coming over. I do not iron if I have time to run my dryer to get the wrinkles out. I also do not cook, nor do I claim to. With that being said, I woke up a couple of Sundays ago with an incredible imagination (reflecting on the day, I think the word imagination is the best choice). I woke up as June Cleaver. I immediately started laundry, did my weekend couponing, mealed planned, and executed my shopping all before 4:00. I was so proud. I was so proud, in fact, I didn't tell Chris (he was on duty). I wanted to surprise him. I was actually ready to tell him that I had become the domestic goddess he didn't marry. This all came to an abrupt end around 5:00. Forget not being able to toast a piece of bread without burning it, I clearly have no business opening a can either. I sliced my finger so bad that you would have thought I hit a major artery. It was nasty.
Naturally, Chris was on duty. A year and a half ago when I released a monkey ladder on my foot, broke a couple bones, and required stitches (hence the "not again" thought), he was also on duty. 2 months after that when I slipped and fractured my ankle, he was on duty. Why would it be any other way? Anyway, just like the foot mishaps, my incredible neighbors were there to save the day. They took all 3 of my babies. They fed them and even bathed them for me (along with their 2).
Although my neighbor offered to take me, I decided to take myself for the stitches. This was clearly not one of my better ideas since I had cut the artery in my right hand in which I write with. Who knew the 12 year old at the desk would not sign me in? Who knew the 12 year old at the desk could not transfer the information from my licence and insurance card she copied on the 25 pages of paperwork? Who knew my sweet neighbor would have to come down anyway to fill out my address because the 12 year old wouldn't? I would love to have a picture of the look on my face when she told me to "let her know when I contacted someone to fill out the paperwork for me". I cannot imagine that one of her strengths is reading facial expressions since she still didn't offer, but maybe I am wrong. Maybe my face didn't express my true feelings. None the less, my neighbor came to write my address and insurance information for me. Seriously.
I cannot even begin to tell you everything I witnesses, overheard, or speculated during my four hour visit; but trust me, it was more than I could have ever dreamed of. Although they have rooms there, I am not sure they are used for anything other than triage. After they do all the initial check in stuff, they put you in a back room where only curtains separate you from other patients. Where I am thankful this is not the setting I birthed my children, I do admit, I enjoyed this setting for something much less exciting. I was able to hear lab updates, patient information, and even treatment plans of/for particular patients without breaching confidentiality (well, I couldn't see them and I didn't know their names). Luckily, I do not have a weak stomach, but when the lady with the stomach flu entered, I questioned this. After listening to her vomit multiple times, I started to giggle a little thinking "this cannot be happening to me". When she explained that her suppository would not stay in, I lost it. I started laughing and could not stop. I was trying so hard to keep it contained that I was crying. As luck would have it, the doctor walked in. I think she thought my tears were those of sadness, but I made up some comment referencing a text and she said "I understand". She returned shortly there after to stitch me up. During this time we had a nice conversation with an occasional pause as my suite mate continued to vomit.
Where I would have loved to have seen my one day as June Cleaver come to fruition, I have to admit, I really did enjoy my stay at Urgent Care. It brought me endless entertainment, a lot of laughter, and as most mothers would likely agree...a few hours of "me" time.
