I went out to dinner last night with Emsy and we were there for five hours. Because we only see each other just a few times a year there is generally a lot of catching up and arm flapping to do, and in the case of last night, recapping entire episodes of "The West Wing". Five hours with lots of water refills naturally lead to a bathroom break so I excused myself and headed into the loo where I found 1.) a woman having a difficult time breathing, 2.) a man comforting her while on the phone with 911 and 3.) her sister in hysterics. I mean, HYESTERICS. How, exactly does one take care of business under those conditions? I'll tell you, one does not. So I put my arm around the wailing sister and lead her over to the sink and away from the gasping woman and tried to calm her down by saying positive and soothing things. Which would have been a noble thing to do if I were not so fixated on the fact that there would be no peeing in my immediate future. Especially after a whole lot of dreamy EMTs came strutting into the Ladies a minute later.
And now I feel a bit like a jerk for only thinking, "But I really have to peeeeeee!!!!" while the poor woman was fighting for life.* But, really, I did. And you would think that during an emergency situation such as this that urge would disappear, but I can testify that it does not. I am happy to report that the EMTs were not only cute but also efficient and they had her strapped to oxygen and a guerney in under five minutes and we all could rejoice.
*Okay, she was actually standing, which I took to be a very positive sign, and other than not being able to speak and having difficulty getting air into her, she seemed like she would weather the storm. In fact, she looked and sounded exactly like my old co-worker Sheila when she had severe acid reflux which, in a freak incident, went down her wind pipe, and who, once she had recovered her voice, said, "I'm so embarassed you called 911 because I burped."