My friend Gerald had a lousy night last night. Ended with him on crutches and wearing a splint, plus dealing with another issue that might be TMI and is definitely not my story to tell. Let's call that Concern #1. He let me know via direct message about Concern #1 and said he needed to go to the hospital (or as he said, "health jail"). I told him I'd pick him up at work and get him there. On our way, we happened to drive past a diner/bar where a lot of his friends were, and Gerald asked to stop so he could tell them what was happening. I did, he got out, and he was crossing the street when suddenly he was hobbling. I thought he'd had a charley horse. No, he'd felt something in his ankle go "pop." (Not a scientific term, I know. Neither is "ew," but you know what I mean.) On top of that, we shared a moment of panic when I had trouble re-starting my car -- grr -- so we waited for a few minutes until it did start. THANK YOU, CAR.
Yeah. A more dramatic Saturday night than I usually have.
We got to a hospital, he got triaged and admitted, and I hung out, wondering if I'd need caffeine, or a place to sleep that wasn't my bedroom (spoilers: nope). And he kept his sense of humor:
MALE NURSE SETTING THE SPLINT: You'll want to wait for it to get hard.
GERALD: Thinking of Kim Kardashian usually does that.
ME: I'm more an Alison Brie type myself.
GERALD: I think we all can agree on Felicia Day.
Now for healing and drugs. For Gerald, not me.