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canyonwalkerHawk broken her toe (maybe) the other day. It's weird how sometimes the pain doesn't hit right away. For 30 minutes after banging it into a chair she thought she'd just jammed it. It hurt, but the pain wasn't OMFG bad, so she played her "I'm a big girl" card and toughed through it. Then the pain got worse and she decided a) it's quite possibly broken and b) I need to go to urgent care now.
I took her to the clinic and had to wait outside. I mean, she went right in, but the pandemic-times policy remains that only patients are allowed to enter. I sat outside on a bench for a while. Hawk texted me "It's going to be 2-2.5 hours, wait for me at home." Home is only ~10 minutes away so that seemed reasonable.
BTW, when the emergency room tells you it's going to be 2 - 2.5 hours that's generally a good thing. They are doing triage. You don't want to be the one rushed in right away; that means they think you're about to die!
While Hawk was in the waiting room and I was waiting at home, a long text arrived from her mom. She let us know she was at the hospital (2500 miles away), had been admitted, and was awaiting tests.
"What a coincidence, we're at the hospital, too!" I wanted to text back. But Hawk had already sworn me to secrecy from her parents. They tend to over-worry, and they have enough problems of their own to manage without fretting about hers, too.
Update: Hawk told her parents on Friday, after she got better news from the specialist: it's actually not broken. Her aim wasn't to conceal the injury from them entirely but to delay sharing information until unknowns were resolved.
I took her to the clinic and had to wait outside. I mean, she went right in, but the pandemic-times policy remains that only patients are allowed to enter. I sat outside on a bench for a while. Hawk texted me "It's going to be 2-2.5 hours, wait for me at home." Home is only ~10 minutes away so that seemed reasonable.
BTW, when the emergency room tells you it's going to be 2 - 2.5 hours that's generally a good thing. They are doing triage. You don't want to be the one rushed in right away; that means they think you're about to die!
While Hawk was in the waiting room and I was waiting at home, a long text arrived from her mom. She let us know she was at the hospital (2500 miles away), had been admitted, and was awaiting tests.
"What a coincidence, we're at the hospital, too!" I wanted to text back. But Hawk had already sworn me to secrecy from her parents. They tend to over-worry, and they have enough problems of their own to manage without fretting about hers, too.
Update: Hawk told her parents on Friday, after she got better news from the specialist: it's actually not broken. Her aim wasn't to conceal the injury from them entirely but to delay sharing information until unknowns were resolved.
