I would have told this story through interpretive dance, my preferred method of communication, but I’m still bloated from Thanksgiving, and don’t feel like donning my tutu at the moment.
At about age seven, when I began my career as a writer, I created goals, a business plan, a budget, a writer’s platform, and took an oath never to use anyone’s real name without permission.
I chucked the goals, business plan, budget, and writer’s platform when I was seven and 1/2 because I could tell those things were never going to happen, and, so far, they haven’t.
But, I’ve always remained true to my oath, so the identities of the people in this story have been slightly altered, as you’ll see in the illustrations below, while they remain in a secure, undisclosed location.
Last week, one of my BFF’s, who is a righty, sent a group text to her Super-Friends that read, “Thank God it’s the left hand! Cutting an apple. At ER waiting for stitches.” We’ll refer to her as “Friend in the ER,” or FER.
Wonder Woman replied that she wanted to come to the hospital, but was at the dentist.
FER then texted us all again saying that her colleague, Penelope Pitstop, had taken her to the hospital and planned to stay with her, so there was no need for anyone else to come.
Yeah, right! You can’t tell a bunch of Super-Friends not to come when you’re in the ER. It’s what we live for. I’ve heard urban legends about women who have dashed out in the middle of a “bam” or “crack” during a Mahjong game to come to the aid of a fellow FER.
Like I’m not going to go to the hospital? So, I rescheduled the dogs’ vet appointments,
which turned out to be a good idea because another text arrived from Penelope. She was in peril because FER’s car was stranded at work. She needed to take someone with her to pick it up. I texted back, “I’m on it.”
Admittedly, my Super-Powers are pretty super, but even I can’t drive two cars at once. I needed back-up, and I needed it fast.
I knew Captain Marvel would jump to the task. In a flash, she arrived to give me a lift. I had just enough time to grab my cape before leaping into the Marvel Machine.
Upon arrival, The Captain rode shotgun with Pitstop. I asked to be let into the ER, just as a courtesy; I’m so well-known there, I really didn’t need to ask. After all, I’ve seen almost every episode of Grey’s Anatomy, which practically makes me a doctor, and, I’ve been to Highland Park Hospital’s ER so often, I know where the warm blankets are kept.
As Penelope sped off with Marvel, I scrubbed in and yelled, “I need a bag of O-neg, people. Stat!” I received the attention of no one, so I just asked where I could find FER.
FER told me she had tried to reach her husband, but he said he had a crisis at work. She said, “He has a a crisis at work? I’m his wife, and I’m having a crisis,” at which point she showed me the gash in her hand. I started to turn green and wished I had opted to go with Penelope.
Just then, FER received a text from her son at school in New York. He’s handsome, extremely smart, and has a great sense of humor. He also has almost magical powers when it comes to calming down mothers, and his teeth actually sparkle when he smiles.
Courtesy tvtropes.org
His text advised his mother to, ”Drink plenty of fluids, rest, use ice, and take Advil. Oh, and gargle with salt water,” wise words he had learned from FER over the past twenty years.
One of the doctors came in to see if the bleeding had stopped. When she saw me she said, “Oh, you must be her daughter.” I didn’t correct her because, after all, FER is five years older than I, plus, the fact that she thought I was FER’s daughter quelled my nausea and my face returned to its natural color.
A very cute male Resident brought in a tray that contained a suture kit, a bottle of local anesthetic, an assortment of needles, and very much gauze.
“Nicely done,” I thought to myself.
I held my BFF’s hand and told her she could squeeze mine as hard as she wanted. She began to squeeze before the very cute male Resident even touched her. I excused myself for a moment, re-shaped my hand back into a hand, and put on the fuzzy gloves I had in the pocket of my cape. I told FER the gloves would feel good when she squeezed my hand, but I really wore them to put a layer of fluffiness between my hand and her grip.
As the very cute male Resident cleaned the wound with Betadine solution, I held FER’s hand again, this time cleverly placing my hand so that, if need be, only unnecessary bones would break.
I swear, she needed about 8,000 shots of anesthetic to numb that puppy up, which, obviously, equaled 8,000 squeezes. I felt bad for FER because of the pain, and because hospitals are definitely not her favorite milieu.
When FER declared that her hand felt as if it weren’t attached to her body anymore, the very cute male Resident and I exchanged nods. It was time to suture, and suture fast. We both knew we had a limited amount of time before the anesthetic wore off.
Luckily, at that moment, Supergirl, a mutual friend, who happens to be a nurse, walked in. She knew how to distract a patient AND watch every move the very cute male Resident made.
Meanwhile, Captain Marvel returned with FER’s car. Knowing FER was in the capable hands of Supergirl, I went to the parking lot to bring FER’s car to the ER entrance, so she wouldn’t have to walk very far. That’s what Super-Friends do.
Unless a certain Super-Friend had no idea how to start FER’s car. My car, which is normal, has a key that you put into the ignition and turn. My husband’s car has a BOBB or FOOBY-THING that only needs to be close enough to the car so upon entering, all he has to do is push a button.
FER’s car also had a FOBBY-BOBBY-THINGY, but there was no button to push. So, I began to try to surgically separate the FOB-BOB, thinking if I pulled it apart, one side would reveal a key because, after all, there was a slot for a key in the ignition.
Nothing worked. I began to wonder if I was missing the key and that the BOB-FOB only locked and unlocked the car.
Captain Marvel to the rescue! She knocked on the driver’s side window and said, “I knew you’d never figure this out.”
Courtesy DC Comics
What a Super-pal. She explained that in order to start FER’s car, I only needed to have the BOFFO on me or in the car, and then turn the ignition, like I would if there were an actual key in it.
I began to question why cars can’t all just start the same way, when the ever-vigilant Captain Marvel reminded me that I needed to pick up FER stat.
Captain Marvel followed me as I drove FER home, and then took me home. We contemplated getting coffee, but felt our Super-Powers had been so depleted not even a Starbucks could perk us up to full-power.
We both needed to go home to recharge. After all, tomorrow was another day, and, because we are members of The Super-Friends, we must always be ready, even if we’re a little late because we have to apply another coat of lipstick.
I would like to thank Captain Marvel for her marvelous input, and help with editing this story.