Dear Fate,

I’m sorry that things didn’t work out the way we all thought they did. Ha-ha, that’s funny, isn’t it? Yeah. Well. I know it can be tough, being something that a lot of people don’t like to believe in. Maybe we can talk about it another time, over cappucino?

Listen, two trips to the hospital in as many days is just…well it’s a bit much. It was bad enough having to wait with a sick and sweaty, tired four year old in a strange hospital in a down we don’t know at all. But six hours in an emergency room to get three stitches?

I know I’m complaining. I shouldn’t. Just…maybe…I wonder if maybe we could work something out between us – just you and me – as friends?

I’m pretty sure Stitchface would appreciate it. He’s totally done with hospitals and doctors now. Really. Done.

Anyway, let’s talk about it soon, okay?

Thanks,
cenobyte

  3 comments for “Dear Fate,

  1. Silent Winged Coyote
    2 February 2010 at 1:29 pm

    You had to wait 6 hours for stitches for a wee one?! Every time I’ve had to get Little Bear in there for stitches she’s been in and out in no time. Wierd…

    Just remember to tell Stitchface that chicks dig scars. :)

  2. Viper Pilot
    2 February 2010 at 1:29 pm

    Six hours? That reminds me of that time I made Randy’s boss break Randy’s arm at Lydia’s. We were in the hospital for what certainly have been a equally mind-numbing amount of time. And for Randy it was a lot more numbing, what with the drugs and the waggly arm-bits that shouldn’t have been wagging in quite so many places.

  3. cenobyte
    2 February 2010 at 1:29 pm

    Yup.
    Six hours for a bleeding head wound. Which is to say, four hours of waiting, then about an hour of sedatives (he remembers his other stitch experience all too well) and monitoring, five minutes of stitching, and another hour of observation because of the sedative.

    I felt bad for the guy who came in just after us having had a saw accident. He didn’t get seen until after our stitches were well over.

    I’ve already told Stitchface that chix dig scars. The nurse thought that was terribly funny.

    And, honestly, I’m glad it happened when it did (Stitchface cannot fly off of rocks, either, apparently. In fact, he’s rockophilic), because it’s the Friday of a long weekend when the stupid fair is in town.
    The woman beside us had drunk too much laquer and was complaining of blood in her vomit and quite a lot of pain.

    **too much laquer**, she said. One would think that *any* amount of laquer would be too much to drink.

i make squee noises when you tell me stuff.

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