This post was originally posted on January 22, 2012. Today, after editing and re-working it, I'm submitting it to Yeah Write. Be sure to check out the grid filled with other great blogs.
It’s happened more than once and I’m positive I’m not the only doctor’s wife whose evening plans have been abruptly thwarted by the archaic, high pitched beep of a hospital pager.
We decided to dine out; a semi-date night. These dinners are not a ‘real’ date night, because we know we may have to flag down the poor wait staff to ask for our dinner to go. A movie is completely out of the question, regardless of how quiet the night seems. We tried a movie once. We ran straight through the lobby, across the parking lot and straight for the car.
Sometimes, the beep can be satisfied with a phone call; some lengthy in duration, some short and sweet. Other times, we’re allowed to finish our main course, but don’t think of ordering another glass of wine (that’s me, not Doc H) or a dessert, ‘cause he's got to go!
Normally, when the beep brings our life to a unexpected halt, it is an irritation which brings a bout of frustration. Normally, a cognisant round of ‘let’s focus on the positives’ as our car comes to a rolling stop at our driveway as I jump out.
However, it is when another hospital, where Doc H has privileges, beeps for back-up that leaves me unguarded and ill-prepared. So much so, that one dark night, I found myself sitting outside the main entrance of a hospital as Doc H was inside one of the ORs working on a poor chap. I had already been there over an hour and it was going to be a long wait.
I know. I know!! I should’ve known! The second I took the curing iron to my hair on a night my husband could possibly be called in, the night was doomed!
While waiting in the hospital lobby, waiting for Doc H, I took to people watching for awhile. I looked at them and they looked at me. Dressed up in my best date night clothes (you know, the ones that make you look skinnier than you really are, the bra that hoists the girls up and around your neck like a choker, and the shoes that make you look as tall as you possibly can look without falling over), I must have looked like a pitiful case, cause I began to feel uncomfortable and desperate for a way home. Oh, why didn't we drive two cars?! My wallet didn’t hold enough cash for a cab ride and I wouldn’t dream of paying that much in fare anyway. I grabbed my phone and updated my status.
“Anyone in the __________ Hospital area and headed North? I could use a ride...now.”
I didn’t expect anything. I threw my phone back in my purse. In less time than it takes to say ‘ruptured abdominal aortic anuerysm’ my phone rang and I had a ride on the way!
Thank you, Mr. Zuckerberg! I treasure you and your little website! You saved my *BEEP*!