So the ER doctor comes in and puts numbing drops in my eye and then gets something on a stick and says, “You won’t feel this” and strokes the stick across my eye.

“You lie,” I says. “I can so feel it.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t hurt, does it?” he says, still with the stick in my eye.

“No,” I have to admit, “but I can feel it.”

I think, upon reflection, I should have kept my mouth shut.

So he turns on this weird light and shines it in my eye.

“Uh-oh,” he says.

Which is EXACTLY what you want to hear an ER doctor say.

He calls my husband over and describes the (actually minor) damage as if it were something that had been done by an eyeball-eating pit bull.

Then, after he tells me what medicines he’s going to prescribe, he says, “I see you’re allergic to tetanus shots. That’s unfortunate, because you’re putting yourself at risk.”

I do NOT say, “Gosh, you’re right. Okay, I won’t be allergic any more. What was I thinking?”

I say, “How will I know if I’m getting tetanus?”

He describes a hideous scenario.

“Wow!” I say. “Now you’ve got me scared. Would I be better off with the allergic reaction, or risking tetanus?”

“Oh, if you’re allergic to it, the next reaction will be worse than the last one. You can’t have the shot.”

“So what happens if I get tetanus? I die?”

He continues to write and says, offhand, “Yeah.”

This is inconsistent with what my doctor told me, and I can see the nurse looking between us with a wondering half-smile, like we’re having a bizarre joke, so I figure he thinks he’s being funny.

“Oh,” I chirp. “Okay. Thanks.”

So now I have to call my doctor and ask her about a tetanus booster.

His name–as God is my witness–is Dr. Heiney.


Writing prompt: Send your villain to the ER. Give him/her a bad time. It’ll be fun!