Things to ride in Manhattan when you're dying
First off, I've been asked to liveblog the Oscars.
Newsgroper intends to pair Samuel L. Jackson up with Brett Ratner for a liveblogging event during the Oscar telecast next week, and while I'm not entirely sure of the logistics, I can say with some confidence that it'll be an amusingly painful few hours. If anyone's interested, we'll be taking questions and comments from the site.
Secondly, I had my first Manhattan hospital adventure Thursday. It was fun. Nothing serious, as it turned out, but Greg, who'd been sick since Tuesday, finally decided to go to the hospital as I'd been begging him to do. We were too lazy to call a cab so we called an ambulance. And we're happy we have health insurance because that ambulance ride is probably about as much as my student loans.
Surprisingly, we were well-treated, got in and out fairly quickly, and the ambulance guys were pretty cool.
But yeah. So Tuesday was Greg's bday. He was sick. VERY sick. It hurt to touch him--his fever was high enough to burn. He'd get shakes and chills, and wasn't sweating, and no amount of liquids I could pour down him would make him sweat. But he didn't want to go to the doctor.
Wednesday, I went to work, came home, and found out he'd spent all day in bed, with his fever and his lack of obvious symptoms (like coughing and hacking and snotting), and at one point he'd gotten up to pee, blacked out, and pulled down half the bathroom with him as he fell. Still, no doctor-going.
Thursday, Valentine's Day, I came home with two tons of soup, some meds, and flowers. He was in the shower, and announced to me that he finally wanted to go to the hospital.
I told him we'd take a cab, since he didn't seem ambulance-worthy--I mean, he was ambulatory and all. He wasn't blacking out anymore, and he wasn't suffering from a 104 fever. But he didn't want to take a cab--he wanted to take the subway.
"I'm not paying some guy to drive me to the hospital if I can walk," he said.
"And I'm not taking the subway and walking two blocks over to St. Luke's just because you're too sick to admit you need a cab," I replied.
So we compromised. I swear to god: our compromise was a fucking ambulance. Which, I might add, costs more than if we'd just bought a subway car and had a cabbie HAUL it down Hudson Parkway.
So greg calls for an ambulance, and the chick on the other end is kind of shocked that Greg's calling one for himself. "Are you sure you need an ambulance, sugar?" She asked. "Cause you can just wrap yourself in some blankets and sweat that shit out."
"Yes! Just send me the damn ambulance. I know when I need one."
con't.
Newsgroper intends to pair Samuel L. Jackson up with Brett Ratner for a liveblogging event during the Oscar telecast next week, and while I'm not entirely sure of the logistics, I can say with some confidence that it'll be an amusingly painful few hours. If anyone's interested, we'll be taking questions and comments from the site.
Secondly, I had my first Manhattan hospital adventure Thursday. It was fun. Nothing serious, as it turned out, but Greg, who'd been sick since Tuesday, finally decided to go to the hospital as I'd been begging him to do. We were too lazy to call a cab so we called an ambulance. And we're happy we have health insurance because that ambulance ride is probably about as much as my student loans.
Surprisingly, we were well-treated, got in and out fairly quickly, and the ambulance guys were pretty cool.
But yeah. So Tuesday was Greg's bday. He was sick. VERY sick. It hurt to touch him--his fever was high enough to burn. He'd get shakes and chills, and wasn't sweating, and no amount of liquids I could pour down him would make him sweat. But he didn't want to go to the doctor.
Wednesday, I went to work, came home, and found out he'd spent all day in bed, with his fever and his lack of obvious symptoms (like coughing and hacking and snotting), and at one point he'd gotten up to pee, blacked out, and pulled down half the bathroom with him as he fell. Still, no doctor-going.
Thursday, Valentine's Day, I came home with two tons of soup, some meds, and flowers. He was in the shower, and announced to me that he finally wanted to go to the hospital.
I told him we'd take a cab, since he didn't seem ambulance-worthy--I mean, he was ambulatory and all. He wasn't blacking out anymore, and he wasn't suffering from a 104 fever. But he didn't want to take a cab--he wanted to take the subway.
"I'm not paying some guy to drive me to the hospital if I can walk," he said.
"And I'm not taking the subway and walking two blocks over to St. Luke's just because you're too sick to admit you need a cab," I replied.
So we compromised. I swear to god: our compromise was a fucking ambulance. Which, I might add, costs more than if we'd just bought a subway car and had a cabbie HAUL it down Hudson Parkway.
So greg calls for an ambulance, and the chick on the other end is kind of shocked that Greg's calling one for himself. "Are you sure you need an ambulance, sugar?" She asked. "Cause you can just wrap yourself in some blankets and sweat that shit out."
"Yes! Just send me the damn ambulance. I know when I need one."
con't.