When I found Greg lying outside the back door in a blinding thunderstorm, my first thought was that he had been hit by lightening. Turns out that he merely fell down the wet deck stairs... on his back. When he didn't outright refuse my suggestion that we go to the E.R., I knew it was serious.
At the ER, they asked him to rate his pain on a scale from 1 to 10. He said 8. Three and a half hours later, we were seen by Doogie Howser's younger brother, Clark, the physician’s assistant. Clark looked like he wandered off the quad to meet his fraternity's philanthropy requirement at the local hospital. He pressed on Greg's back and gave his prognosis: "The good news is, it's muscular, bud."
Greg said, "As I was falling, I was sure my back was breaking... but when I could walk I thought maybe a disk or something?"
Clark said, "Nope. It's muscular, bud. Pretty much the only people who break their back when they fall are little old ladies." Then he looked at me. "No offense."
Ummm, bud? So not cool, okay? I admittedly wasn't looking my finest. My hair was frizzy, and I'd just spent three and a half hours in the waiting room tending to my husband and baby.
"Actually, I am somewhat offended. I'm little and female, but I'm not that old!" I protested.
"Oh no, no, no. I meant someone much older than you," said Clark unconvincingly. "Anyway, I'll give you something for the pain. If you pee yourself, you need to come back and see a doctor right away."
Frighteningly enough, Clark has the authority to write a prescription for Vicodin. Greg is feeling much better. Baby C is the only one who peed herself. And I'm thinking seriously about Botox.