There’s nothing like a good trip to the emergency room in the middle of the Christmas season. Thankfully, our company had just left last night, and I was able to fit in the four hour ordeal before the onslaught of activity begins continues. I do not have a free day until December 26 wherein I am not required to cook, host, perform, and smile.

And everyone wants to know why I’m a Grinch.

Only Grinches give pop quizzes, so here goes: What was the purpose of the emergency room visit?

a. The vitamins were more toxic than first thought. (See post below.)
b. Someone needed stitches.
c. I was in labor.
d. My husband wiped the counter again and broke his finger. (True story.)
e. To acquire the Avian bird flu.

Got your answer? The correct answer is “e.” I actually didn’t have the Avian bird flu before I went to the ER, but I feel pretty certain that I increased my odds a hundred fold. Here’s the skinny.

It all started when my father-in-law generously offered to baby sit so that I could hopelessly catch-up perfect all the music coming up. I used the afternoon to practice, returned home, and took a nap. Sticky note #2 to self: You are a mother of almost 5 kids now. No napping. Mush, mush, mush!

So I woke up wheezing terribly, due to my haywire allergies and people who won’t stay home when they’re sick. As the night wore on, the breathing became painful and the usual remedies of steam and Vicks weren’t helping. Normally, I’d just deal, but I didn’t want the baby I’m carrying to suffer. So, I placed a call in to the midwife.

Me: My name is Amy Scott; I was just in your office yesterday.

Midwife who has no clue who I am due to the high volume of patients they must see to cover medical malpractice insurance: You were?

Me: Yes, I’m the one with all the kids. (I use this line all the time, and it works.)

Midwife: Ohhhhhh, you mean the one with all the well-behaved kids!

I gave back my Bad Mother of the Year Award and proceded to tell her the problem. A half hour later I’m in the cattle corral ER waiting room, murmuring about big burly men with broken toes who get called in before wheezing, panting pregnant woman. Chivalry is dead, I tell you, along with common sense. Sticky note to self #3: Always grab your chest when signing in at the ER.

While I’m getting oxygen (stats were low) and breathing treatments (I appreciate the concern, but please don’t write to me about my decision to take it), the following scene repeats itself several times over:

Stranger: First baby?

Me: No, fifth. (smile)

Stranger: Don’t-you-know-what-causes-that?-do-you-know-about-birth-control?-you-mean-by-choice-or-chance?

Me: (smiling and hyperventilating continues…)

Refusing a wheelchair 10 times over, I walked back to a room where I’d spend the next few hours. I passed several cops and kept my head real low (see post below), even though they stole my room (from a pregnant lady, no less). I listened on as a crazy lady got loose, police locked down the place, and an old man yelled for 20 minutes, “Help! Is anyone out there? Is anyone out there?”

I almost unhooked all my wires to help the guy, but I was glad I didn’t when I finally heard his complaint: He was a little chilly.

And I no longer wondered why the staff takes nobody seriously in the ER.

*Miscellaneous detail: I want an Avian bird flu mask for Christmas.*

So the evening ends like this. The ER doctor discharges me with an inhaler, tells me to follow up with my primary care doctor to get some birth control (yes, I laughed at him), and wishes me a Happy Holiday.

Bah Humbug.