The emergency wing of the hospital at midnight is possibly the scariest place I have ever been. Lights flicker on and off as you walk through rows of ailing patients, waiting on beds or stretchers for a room. Not to be melodramatic or anything, but walking to my brother’s room, I felt as if any second, the hands of death and doom would reach out and try to strangle me. Hospitals are SCARY.
When my dad and I walked into Davis’s room, my mom was already there. We all chatted and joked around while listening to the people in the next room fight about someone hitting someone else. Davis was having his appendix taken out, and we were there to keep him company while the hospital figured out when he’d have surgery. We watched One Direction perform on SNL, I performed multiple interpretive dances for my family, and Davis’s appendix SPOKE TO US (through him, of course). It cursed all of us out and was generally a bully. When I asked it to describe its life philosophy in three words, it said, “I…HHHHAAATEEE…DAVISSSSSSS.” Appendixes are mean and nasty beings.
At one AM the nurse came in and said the operation would be early the next morning. Davis said, “So I guess we draw hypodermic needles to see who has to stay the night with me.” (No one drew a needle. My mom stayed).
As my dad and I started to say our goodbyes, Davis gazed lustfully at my thick wool socks and said that his feet were cold. Because he was wearing the saddest puppy-dog face, and despite the fact that I hate most dogs, I decided that I would give my brother my socks. As I was putting them on his smelly, cold, gross, hairy boy-feet, he complained that they were sweaty. SWEATY. The socks that I was giving him OFF OF MY OWN FEET. So the ONE time I ever do something sort of almost nice—because generally I am a selfish, lazy, spoiled brat—I find out that I have gross sweaty feet. I’M NEVER HELPING ANYONE AGAIN.
I guess I learned a lot in that emergency room. I learned what laparoscopic means. I learned that my mom had her first kiss in seventh grade on a hay ride, and that my dad once had appendicitis but never had his appendix removed. Also, appendixes look like little peppers! Who knew? FURTHERMORE, because I learned that I have sweaty feet, I will move into a cave at the top of a mountain where I will never love anything or anyone again. I will adopt a dog named Max to keep me company and spend my days thinking about how much I hate dogs and lamenting the fact that, because of lack of exposure to sunlight, my skin is turning green. I will live forever in misery because my feet are gross. Or I will stop wearing socks while it’s 80 degrees outside. I’d rather live in a cave. Heat is gross. ♦