How I Got to the ER. There's a Reason I Call Myself Blunder Woman.

I’ve had a few questions about my recent adventures. How did I get to the ER? How am I handling the kids? What am I going to do? That’s part two of the story.

I managed to make dinner Saturday night while hopping on one leg. My friend Jason came over early to help get the kids to bed, play light sabers with Louis, and then Scrabble with me. I was certain that I’d go to sleep, wake up and be just fine.

I woke up at 1AM. I was not fine. I woke up at 3AM. Still not fine. When the kids woke up at 5AM, I was in tears. At 6AM I called the only person I could to help: my ex: Mr. P. I thought if I could get him to watch the kids on Sunday then I could drive myself to the ER and get taken care of. I called his cellphone. No answer. I waited. I called his home phone. No answer. Then it dawned on me. He was probably with his girlfriend/fiancée. He’s getting married as soon as our divorce is final. I’ve met her and she’s nice. So I called her cell phone. Finally got ahold of them at 7:30 at her home phone.

“I hate to call but I can’t walk and I can barely take care of the kids. Please. Can you help?” I felt like Princess Leia calling on Obi Wan, only it was a little more humiliating. I tried to explain that I wasn’t exaggerating and could they please take the kids for a while. Mr. P. said they’d take the kids to church. “Do you think you could maybe take them overnight? I’m in really bad shape,” I said. He hesitated. He said he had a presentation to do on Thursday and wanted to prepare. “Okay,” I said.

I waited for them to come and called my mom. She said she’d be over as fast as she could. No questions asked; she was coming.

When they came in, I was so embarrassed. There was food all over the floor from the kids ‘helping’ mommy by getting breakfast for themselves. And I hadn’t washed the dishes from the night before, of course, because I couldn’t walk. And I looked horrible.

Miss R. said “Tanya, I could take you to the ER, if that would help.” I wanted to hug her.

“Yes,” I said. “Please.”

So I found myself being driven to the nearest hospital by my ex’s fiancée. We were in his new car, and he was at my place watching the kids. They put me in a wheelchair and Miss R. parked then followed me into the room to get checked in.

The nurse asked if Miss R. was a friend or family. I didn’t know what to say. “Uh, she’s not really either. See I’m divorcing my husband and they met two weeks after we separated and are getting married soon, but they have to wait for the divorce to be finalized so, technically, I guess, she’s my husband’s lover, or maybe my sisterwife.”

It’s a good thing Miss R. answered before I did. “Yes,” she said. “We’re friends.”

Then the nurse began asking me my marital status. “Uh..married?” I said.

“I hear you. I’ve been through a divorce myself. Good riddance,” she said. I saw Miss R. shift in her seat. “But your insurance is still good?”

“God I hope so.”

They left Miss R. and I alone for a bit. We had awkward conversation about her times in the ER with her kids. And then a peculiar thing started happening. You know how the Grinch’s heart started growing? I sort of felt my heart growing too. Here’s this woman, a nice woman, who is helping me and talking to me and we’re connecting about our love for our kids, and then I started crying and she reached over and touched my shoulder, and I realized, shit. I like her. I actually like her.

They x-rayed me. The doctor came in. A tiny woman with very cold hands. “Well,” she said with a big smile. “You broke it. The good news is your husband will just have to take a little extra care of you this Christmas.”

“He sure will!” I said, and laughed, I think a bit too enthusiastically.

A big man came in and put a splint on my leg. “I got to bend your foot. I’m not going to lie to you. This? This is going to hurt.” I appreciated his honesty, but when he bent my foot, I really hated him for at least thirty seconds. I cried again. Big man tears this time.

When he left and Miss R. was wheeling me out, I said “You know, I’m not usually such a train wreck.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I understand.”

And I have a sneaky feeling that, you know, she really did.

And so I end on a happy note, here is a picture of what I wish my feet were doing right now:

Mmmm. Footsie.