Last night Ethan went to the hospital with food poisoning, unbeknownst to most of the house. At around midnight, Brandon and I went to go pick Ethan up from the emergency room. When we arrived, Ethan was still sick as a dog and getting IV fluids, so he wasn’t quite ready to leave. Brandon and I proceeded to talk about medicine, Judaism, heaven and hell, and more, while Ethan rested in between the nurses poking and prodding him. When he started to feel better, we left the hospital, Brandon joking with the staff on our way out.
We got into Ethan’s car, and Brandon began to drive. It wasn’t long until there was a cop behind us and we began to get the feeling that we were about to be pulled over. Ethan remembered he had a tail light out, and we figured that being in a jeep that pulled to the right wouldn’t sit well with a cop at 2:00 in the morning in a college town.
Sure, enough, the sheriff flipped on his lights, and we pulled over to the side. He came around to the driver’s side and asked where we were coming from.
“The hospital,” we all said in unison.
The officer had made his judgement, and immediately decided we weren’t up to any trouble. He asked why we were at the hospital.
” Food poisoning,” Ethan blurted in a mumbling, sedated tone. The officer noted the pink hospital basin at his feet, and the blankets he was wrapped in, and dismissed the suddenness and dryness of his answer.
The sheriff asked for Brandon’s license and the registration and insurance for the car, as usual. Brandon fumbled around in Ethan’s glove box, and pulled out a stack of crumpled papers. He sighed deeply as he set them in his lap and begin to sort through them, and the officer patiently shined his flashlight onto the stack.
“Is this it?”
“Nope, that’s 2006,” the officer chuckled.
“Hmm…this? No, 2009….2006, 2008, 2011….”
Brandon waded through the papers until he finally came upon the 2012 registration. He handed it to the cop, but he stood waiting still. Then Brandon began to go back through the stack looking for proof of insurance. But it was nowhere to be found.
The officer explained that it was unlawful, but gave us a break. He let us go after Ethan promised to fix his taillight, throw out his old registration, and keep the proof of insurance in the car.
This whole ER experience reminded me of the last time I took Ethan to the ER, all too early in the morning.
It was 2:00 am the last day of Fall quarter finals. I was exhausted from taking my last test, but a few of us went out anyways. After a fun-filled evening of freestyle rapping, T.V. smashing, beer shotgunning, and exploding fireplaces, we headed home. It was cold so I rushed to my garage to turn on my space heater, and Wesley, Ethan, and Sienna followed.
After a few minutes, Ethan began to get tired. He laid down on my bed, which rolled slightly on the cement it sat on. As he drifted off to sleep, Wesley sat down beside him. Laughing, he mimed slapping Ethan. Then he pulled his arm back, and slapped Ethan’s ass. Startled, Ethan sat up, turned around, and slapped Wesley in the face. Wesley retaliated, and soon they were rolling around on the bed, which was, in itself, rolling around on the ground. It rolled out from underneath them, and they both tumbled to the cement floor, brushing the fiberglass insulation on the garage door. Ethan hit his head. Hard. He came up bleeding from his lip and disoriented. He was holding his head, and in drunken pain.
As the only one who was sober, and Ethan still in pain a half an hour later, when he decided he wanted to go the emergency room, I was the one to drive.
“Can we stop at Jack in the Box on the way??” Wesley asked, drunkenly laughing as we walked to the car, bleeding Ethan in tow.
Everyone climbed in the car and we drove off, speeding to the hospital. Wesley tried to turn up the radio multiple times, and I turned it back down multiple times.
When we got to the ER, I signed Ethan in, and they took him back right away, but not before we had a chance to say hi to the two blonde guys with broken fingers, who we had coincidentally seen partying at our house earlier that night. The triage nurse asked what was going on in town, and mentioned that he’d already seen five head injuries that night.
They ran tests and kept a close eye on Ethan until 5:00am, when they finally sent him home with a simple but serious concussion diagnosis. I went straight to bed when we got back to the house, in disbelief of all that had happened that night…and I’m not even telling the whole story!
Poor Ethan sure does seem to have some bad luck when it comes to needing to visit the ER.