{ Tuesday, February 25, 2003 }

Ice Storm '03 Part III: Wednesday and Thursday


I woke up early, but actually having slept all night. Writer Guy and I giggle about the fact that we've finally synched up in terms of sleep schedule. We're actually awake at the same time.

We spend the morning watching videos and packing him up. At one point, he goes to Wal*mart to buy some storage containers and I devote much time and energy to stacking things and making the place look clean. I also bother to get dressed back in yesterday's clean clothes. He is very impressed when he gets home. And I finally get to dust.

I got so much sick pleasure out of dusting his furniture. There's probably something wrong with me.

Around three thirty, I decide to go home and check on everything. As I am walking in the door, I hear a neighbor say "The power just came back on." I run inside. It goes off. Then back on. Woo-hoo!

At that point, I hopped on the internet for like two hours. And learned that my mother was in the hospital with problems unknown. I still have to get my cat. I don't bother to get dressed yet.

I went to the store and picked up some thank you flowers and a card for him. A very late hostess gift.

Then I finally went back to Writer Guy's (he had gone out to run some errands) and wait for him to come home so I can leave with my cat (I needed to give him back his keys). I get the cat all packed up and he helps me carry stuff to my car. I depart, thinking I am going home for good.

Instead, I get home and shut my finger in the car door. I manage to keep my act together long enough to get the cat carrier to the side porch and then I just open it outside. I let myself into an empty house. Then I look at my hand. Word to the wise: never look at the injury until such time as you can freak the fuck out about it. Pain from an injury you do not see is much less unnerving than pain from an injury that you know looks bad.

Once I've seen my hand, I lose it. I am crying and screaming and shaking. I manage to call Writer Guy. He says he's coming over. I insist he doesn't have to. I manage to rinse the blood off and get some ice on it. I begin running laps of my house trying to calm myself down. It doesn't work.

He comes in, I sit, he has ice and baggies with him. I admire his presense of mind. He offers to take me to the hospital. He was supposed to be headed out to his dad's house. Instead he's insisting on taking me to the hospital. This is where I fianlly lose it. If I had had to be the one with a clear mind at this point, I probably could've gotten through it myself. With someone around totally prepared to take care of me, I have a small nervous breakdown.

Completely and totally broke down. Right there. In the living room. Big sobbing tears. He stares at me clearly unsure as to what one does in this situation. This was like one of my all-time five most pathetic moments. Public pity party.

Finally, I compose myself and we're off to the hospital. I choose to go to the one at the end of our street based purely on proximity. We park and walk in and sit down and wait. And wait. And wait some more. Finally, the triage nurse comes back. Except there's this woman with three sick children. So we let her sign in first.

And we wait. And Writer Guy starts to get impatient. And we wait. And I insist that he can leave and Emma or someone will pick me up when I get finished. He doesn't want to leave until I've at least made it to actual medical attenion. And we wait. And he's so nice and pets my hair and makes me feel much better and I am so glad he isn't going to leave.

Finally we get to sign in. He jumps up and I think he told the nurse that his "girlfriend" shut her hand in the car door. I choose not to ask if that's what he said as now is not the time for semantics. I spell my name three times and fianlly we are signed in. Eventually, I get called back to triage. Writer Guy comes with. I rattle off all the vital information and then the power goes out.

We try to make polite conversation with the nurse, he's being sort-of an asshole. Turns out he's only been on for two hours. And not much has happened. And no, the power hasn't been going out regularly. The generator kicks on and we get finished with triage.

Fifteen minutes later, we're still waiting for someone to register me. Fuck this. I conclude we're leaving. My ice is melted, I am obviously not getting and realy help, I can just tape it up myself thanks.

When we get to my house, it's dark. We run inside and Emma and Kristie are on their way elsewhere to sleep, because the power is back out. Writer Guy basically announces I am coming to his house. We leave the cat outside.

I only woke up twice all night, inspite of the broken finger.


He drops me back off at home before eight am, on his way to Illinois. I'm still in those clean clothes from Tuesday. We have power. The cat is okay for having been out all night. I bandage up my finger. I learn that my mom is okay. Things finally start to get back to normal.

posted by mary ann 8:32 PM