jab of fate

Here I was, minding my own business and getting lunch for Sue, who happened to be home sick with the flu, when my phone rang. My brother's name was on the caller ID, but when I picked up it was his girlfriend - and she was clearly shaken.

She told me that Eugene was at a dermatologist's office when he passed out, fell, and broke his jaw. Yaowsas. I got in touch with my parents as soon as I could, and we headed of to NYC.

Luckily, we missed all the traffic and got to the NYU Medical Center quickly. Eugene just got out of ER, and was in a pretty sorry shape - bruises on his face, cuts on his lip, and talking with about as much diction as Mayor Menino. He swallowed so much blood that he was throwing up, but by the time we got there the bleeding subsided. They had him hooked up to IV and morphine... in other words, the scene was exactly what you see on TV.

Incidentally, TV shows were my only frame of reference. I've never stepped foot in a hospital before, which might explain what happened later that night.

I left to park our car in Brooklyn, and met with Sunny on the way back to the hospital. We took a cab to go a few blocks up 1st Ave, and walked through the lobby to where I remembered the elevators last were - only they weren't there. At this point, we ran into the first security guard, who directed us to go to the visitor's office and procure visitor's passes. Nobody was paying attention to us in the office, so we took off to dodge some more guards and actually made it into an elevator. Too bad it only went up to the 9th floor - and Eugene was on 11th.

Only after a long conversation with a guy back at the office did we figure out that we were in the wrong hospital. NYU was up one block. D'oh.