Not Your George Clooney ER

Last week Life in the Boomer Lane bid farewell to Beloved Daughter and her family, after their spring break visit, then turned her attention to the precious upheaval that three small boys left in their wake. She surveyed the mountains of Legos, toy trains, puzzle pieces, Batman paraphernalia and games.

Instead, she decided to turn her attention to the kitchen. Things were no better there. She knew the basement would contain piles of sheets and towels. She decided to create a plan. This first involved sitting in front of the TV to see which five or six daily crises were being wrought by our duly-elected POTUS.

In no time at all, she knew something was amiss (Note to readers: LBL has been well aware of something being amiss since November 8, 2016.  In this case, she is referring to something else.)  She realized she felt a bit feverish.  Sure enough, she had a fever of almost 100 degrees. She popped a couple Advil and waited for the fever to subside. The fever, on its own initiative, decided to go in a different direction, up to 103.5. It was accompanied by chills, the likes of which LBL has never experienced, and several other symptoms that are completely unsuitable for a family blog.

LBL decided to get to the ER, and Now Husband drove.  LBL, barely able to stand by that point, had to get past the cheery reception desk.  The receptionist was unable to find LBL’s name in the system. This did not surprise LBL as she has had many years of experience with websites on which she is registered, telling her that she doesn’t actually exist. The receptionist finally located LBL under Then Husband’s name. LBL attempted to correct the situation, as she clutched at the reception desk in order to keep from collapsing.  She finally decided to put staying conscious over trying to convince the receptionist that her name was something other than the ER believed it to be.

LBL and Now Husband were directed to chairs in the waiting area, said awaiting area filled to capacity with humans who were enjoying various states of miserable.  A few minutes into their wait, on chairs that provided no comfort whatsoever, Now Husband began to drape LBL’s hooded sweatshirt over her. LBL assumed he was concerned about her comfort.  She told him that wasn’t necessary. He said it was and pointed to her chest area, saying “Your chest.” LBL asked what about her chest and Now Husband whispered, “You aren’t wearing a bra.” LBL looked down, and sure enough, she was braless, which was exactly the state she preferred her breasts to be in at that time. She smiled at Now Husband and, as politely as possible, said, “So here’s the thing. If I were fucking naked right now, I wouldn’t care.”  Now Husband kept the hooded sweatshirt in his lap.

A few minutes later, Now Husband said, “Your eyebrows,” and swiped over his own eyebrow to demonstrate what an eyebrow was. LBL asked what about her eyebrows was an issue, then realized she was still wearing the black, goopy, mascara-like substance she used to paint onto her eyebrows at night and peel off in the morning. Instant dye, very natural looking. She, in fact, did resemble Groucho Marx.  For those readers unfamiliar with Groucho, stop reading this immediately and instead amuse yourself on Instagram or WhatsApp. LBL responded to Now Husband with words that were not suitable for a family blog.

Although LBL would have preferred to continue to sit on a metal chair and enjoy the grooming tips Now Husband had to offer, she felt that her priority at that point was to go home and die peacefully in her own bed.  On the way out, the extremely distressed receptionist tried to talk them out of leaving.  LBL, black-eyebrowed and sagging-boomed, told her not to worry. She was prepared to give the ER a favorable rating on Yelp.

The next day, eyebrows peeled but still braless, LBL returned to the ER.  This time there were very few people there and LBL was seen almost immediately.  Her name was called (Then Husband’s name), a wristband was slapped onto her (Then Husband’s name) and the team asked her a lot of questions (prefacing all with Then Husband’s name.  When the doctor entered and greeted her by Then Husband’s name, LBL attempted to correct him. Now Husband elbowed her and hissed, “Leave it alone. It doesn’t matter.”  Actually it did matter, because it would now confuse all medical records. But LBL smiled and spoke with the doctor.

After a few minutes, the doctor turned to Now Husband and asked who he was. Now Husband squared his shoulders, pointed to LBL and announced in an overly loud voice, “I’m her husband.” LBL smiled and pridefully puffed out her braless chest.

The rest of the medical adventure, while not unsuitable for a family blog, is beneath LBL’s normal standards for humor.  Except for one item: LBL will add that, upon further inspection of her appearance after arriving home, she noted that  the back of her head  had created a situation that no comb or brush could repair.  A blob of unhairlike substance had taken over the entire back of her head. LBL asked Now Husband why he hadn’t pointed that out to her, along with the Groucho Marx eyebrows and lack of bra. “I gave you a break on that one,” he said. “See, if you had only worn the hoodie and pulled it way down over your face, you could have solved all three of your grooming issues.”  Her response was not suitable for a family blog.