As most of you already know my boyfriend Sonny was in a car accident last week.
[First and Foremost: Thank you so much to everyone – for all of your prayers, well wishes, and good positive thoughts. I am very lucky to have such wonderful friends. And a very special thank you to those who have been texting me through this. I am truly blessed.]
Thankfully Sonny is doing okay. And by okay, I mean he is slowly recovering from a dislocated shoulder. He is dealing with extreme neck pain (complete with brutal headaches). And he has severe lower back pain that now shoots down to behind his kneecap. [Not.Good.Times.]
Now, what I haven’t had a chance to tell ya’ll is how my father managed to entertain us the entire tension-filled drive into New York.
The moment I received ‘The Phone Call’ from Sonny explaining what had happened, my mother and I could not get out of our house fast enough. I don’t think I’ve ever showered and gotten ready that swiftly in my entire life. My one and only concern was getting to my boyfriend – by any means necessary, and quickly.
My mother and I were all set to brave the treacherous weather conditions and drive into Brooklyn together. That is, until we Googled ‘The Worst Hospital In The World’, otherwise known as ‘Woodhull’ in Bedford Stuyvesant [a subsection of Brooklyn, NY].
After reading several online ‘customer reviews’ of the hospital itself, and narrowing down the exact location, my mother and I were NOT exactly thrilled to be headed into one of ‘The Most Dangerous Neighborhoods’ of All Time.
In fact, my mother spent the next hour convincing my father to drive us. And thankfully, he agreed.
My father is always an excellent source of entertainment, which I certainly needed to calm my nerves.
As I sat in the backseat of my father’s car imagining ‘The Worst Case Scenario’ with respects to Sonny’s possible injuries, and feeling sick to my stomach with worry ever since his cell phone died and I had NO WAY of contacting him, my father made every attempt to distract me.
Upon approaching New York City, I decided to take a few photos with my shiny new iPhone. [Because we all know just how much I love to take pictures, and my iPhone.]
While we were stopped at the last red light before the Holland Tunnel, my father asked me, “What the heck are you taking pictures of?”
I told him I was trying to get a clear shot of the sign on the entrance of the Holland Tunnel because I like the way it looked. And that’s when my father asked, “What sign Mel?”
I really thought my father was joking, when I said, “Don’t you see the huge letters on the outside of the Holland Tunnel?”
My father shook his head and said, “No. Where?”
And this time I knew he was being completely serious.
At that point my mother and I busted out into laughter full-well-knowing my father truly did NOT see this:
Once we were finally inside of the city, a whole new bag of issues began.
My father’s GPS system started chanting that annoying phrase ‘Recalculating Route Now’… over, and over, and over again. Only we didn’t have the kind of time required for the GPS to ‘Recalculate The Route.’ And that’s when my dad began arguing, out loud, with his own electronic device.
[Watching a grown man shout obscenities and expletives to an inanimate object? Priceless.]
If you are not familiar with driving in NYC, you don’t exactly have a lot of time to make a decision when trying to pick a lane. The instant you come out of the tunnel you literally only have .2 seconds to figure out where the heck you are supposed to go. And, since my father clearly does NOT read signs, we took a wrong turn.
Fifteen minutes later?
We realized we had accidentally driven right into Chinatown.
Fortunately, by the time my father ‘figured out’ where we were, the GPS had successfully corrected our location and got us back on the right path towards the hospital.
Now, I’m pretty sure everyone here already knows exactly how I feel about bridges. [If not please feel free to click here to find out.] So you can imagine the way I felt when I knew we were about to drive over this bad boy:
The closer we got to the hospital the more nervous I became. While Sonny did everything in his power to convince me he was fine, I knew that I wouldn’t feel better until I saw him with my own eyes. Especially since I had been out of contact with him for hours.
After what seemed like an eternity, I was just about ready to jump out of the car and implement the ‘Tuck & Roll Method’ as soon as I saw the main entrance of the Emergency Room.
However, there was no parking available.
[Gee. Imagine that. No parking in NYC.]
Luckily, after my father circled the block a few times, and asked a stranger, he managed to find a parking deck around the corner from the hospital.
Once we parked, I could tell my mother was too scared to walk without my father. But, I couldn’t wait for them. I got in touch with my ‘Inner Gangster’ summoned all of my knowledge about Bedford Stuyvesant from listening to ‘Biggie Smalls’ and sprinted my way to the hospital.
When I arrived and walked through the filthy Emergency Room doors, I finally realized exactly why Sonny was so miserable having been trapped there. I understood why he sounded so desperate on the telephone. Honestly? I’ve never seen anything this horrific. Ever. I was utterly repulsed by the rancid conditions.
After being hit in the face with an intensely sour stench, the only thing that prevented me from vomiting on the spot? Was my overwhelming desire to find Sonny.
Unfortunately, ‘The Powers That Be’ will not let any visitors into the ‘Trauma Area’ unless you are an ‘Immediate Family Member’. So what could I do? I had to say I was his fiancé.
Finally a very nice security guard, who quite possibly could have played ‘Center’ for the New York Knicks, told me that Sonny was receiving his release papers at that very moment and would be out to see me shortly.
I waited with baited breath, pacing the hallway in front of the locked-down Trauma doors until I saw Sonny’s pale white face peer out the doorway.
Thankfully, the first time I saw Sonny he was no longer wearing this:
However, he was still wearing a sling on his right arm, which was a good thing. Because had Sonny NOT been all sorts of bound? Nothing could have prevented me from tackling him the way I really wanted too. And, had I been able to jump into his arms, I probably would have added to his injuries.
Luckily, we did not have to wait for Sonny to be discharged. Because we had gotten lost, we literally showed up at the hospital at the perfect time. My mother and father were nothing short of THRILLED.
I can’t even imagine how my father ‘The Number One Germaphobe’ would have handled sitting in that disgusting waiting room.
On the car ride home Sonny shared some pretty scary stories about what it was like to be stuck in that hell hole for Six Hours. But I will spare you those details.
Obviously, I can’t spend as much time as I’d like on the Internet this week. I kind of have my hands full with doctor’s appointments and pain management. And to be perfectly honest? It’s really NICE to WANT to take care of the man I love so much. But I will do my best to visit all of your blogs as soon as I can!
[Oh, I almost forgot, I would like to personally Thank one Mr. Zwiggy. Had it not been for you, that photo of ‘Our Guy’ would have NEVER been allowed on the Internet. So please be gentle with him. By the way, your dermatological medical advice CAME in very handy.]
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