Okay, the craziest thing happened this weekend. I never play the lottery-- I lose enough things in life (my keys, my memory, my temper), no way am I going to pay MONEY to risk losing even more. But I'm at the store (making a quick run for milk and bananas) and I just can't help myself. I pay cash for my groceries and have some cash left over, so I fold. Why not, I think. I hate carrying around a lot of change in my wallet anyway.
So I buy a ticket and... I win. Yep, $8,000! Can you believe it? Neither can I. Which is probably why I start screaming and jumping up and down in the store... AND why I trip over a cart and land head first into a display of stewed tomatoes. Besides a few dents, the cans are fine. My wrist, however, is not so lucky.
I can't get a hold of my husband or my sister, so the cashier insists (and I mean insists) on calling an ambulance. I try to ask her, "So are you going to pay the ambulance fee?" but what comes out is, "Swryg pamblfee OUCH!" Apparently, that is injured talk for," Go ahead, call the ambulance. I can afford it, I just won the lottery!"
So $250 dollars in ambulance and emergency room fees later, and I am sitting on a cold, sterile hospital bed, waiting for the doctor to knock me out so they can reset the bone.
But when the doctor walks in, I immediately know something is wrong. "Is there a problem with my wrist?" I ask, suddenly remembering that I hate hospitals as I feel my stomach tie up in knots. Or maybe it's just a reaction to the medicine.
Anyway, the doctor just shakes his head. "It's not your wrist."
I look down at my swollen and misshaped appendage, which now looks identical to Harry Potter's in the movie where he accidentally has all the bones removed from his arm, and give the doctor a confused look. "Are you saying it isn't broken?"
"Oh, it's broken," he replies.
For the first time, I notice that neither he nor any of the nurses are standing within five feet of me. I look back up at the doctor, but he averts his gaze.
"We're a little concerned about the blood test results." He clears his throat. "I'm afraid, we're going to have to put you in quarantine."
By the way, did you know that each chapter of your manuscript should end with a cliff hanger, so that people will want to keep reading?
I just learned that too.
(And if you haven't figured it out already, the above post is a total lie. I've never played the lottery, broken my wrist, or run to the store just to pick up milk and bananas. I hate bananas.)