So Kim had a marvelous idea - let's go to the theater and see Wicked before it leaves Boston on the 15th. She even bought my ticket. I've never been to the theater and haven't been out in Boston in years so needless to say, I was thrilled. Also, as scant few weeks ago, the local arts reporter was crowing about how glad he was Wicked had returned for another run in Boston, that it was just as fabulous this time 'round!

We went to the Thursday night show. It was a coincidence that an audit was scheduled for work that day, so I wore my favorite (and pretty much everyone else's favorite) dress to work and my Manolo patent-leather-and-linen Mary Jane's. I keep a cheapy pair of black ballet flats in my drawer at work so I have close-toed shoes to wear when I have to post evacuation lists throughout the building and I need to enter labs. At the end of the day, I slipped the flats on to give my tootsies a break until I got to the opera house.

The audit wrapped up later than expected so I got a late start on heading to the city. I cleaned up the conference room, closed lobby, gathered up my stuff and left. I barreled down the highway at warp speed. Of course, I couldn't remember exactly how to get to the train station from the last time I went. I pulled into a BJ's parking just off the highway and used the Map app to get me there.  I think the most favorite thing about the smart phones is the map apps - I certainly would never go anywhere I wasn't completely certain how to get without it. Anyway....

I got to the train station, parked, scurried in, bought my ticket (tokens are LONG gone....) and waited five minutes for the train. Two stops before I had to disembark, I pulled my Manolos out of their bag to slip them on. As I buckled the strap, I noticed that the bottom of the shoe had started to peel away from the heel. Since the actual heel wasn't split, I finished buckling the strap and slipped my flats into the Manolo bag.

The doors opened, I stepped out and bustled through the station, up the stairs and through the exit and was greeted by the sounds and sights of a bustling night-time Boston. The air was warm and a bit humid, lights glittered against a twilight sky, pod people were glued to their phones and live music. Kim looking radiant in a linen green dress with pearl earrings and a matching pearl necklace, met me a few feet away. After a brief hug, I looked down and noticed her lovely flat sandals.

We meandered on over to the Boston Opera House, entered, got our cocktails and climbed to the balcony seats. As other patrons took their seats I was amused at how casual our society has become. I live in one of the stuffiest areas of the country when it comes to presentation and there were a plethora of people at the Opera House in shorts, khakis and jeans. One woman who sat across the isle and a few rows down from has was wearing comfy-looking, Birkenstock-esque shoes.

The production was incredible - I was completely blown away with all that was accomplished on just one stage! And to quote the inestimable Wayne Campbell, "Those chicks could wail!" The story was funny, poignant, engaging and truly unique.

Intermission was bathroom break and the line was a mile long. When we arrived at the stall entrance, the house lights started flashing. The theater attendant said that if we didn't get back to our seats before the show started, we'd have to watch the first nine minutes of the second half on a TV screen in the hall. We opted to for the screen. Whilst in my stall, I noticed the flip-flops on my neighbor's feet.

The second half flew by. Kim and I decided to make our exit before the last bow, while everyone else was still clapping. I grabbed my little plastic cup, so as not to be a litter bug, and we scurried down the hall and to the stairs. Normally I cling to stair rails for dear life because I'm prone to falls, but I had my cup in hand and I was just not thinking. Halfway down the second flight my heel got caught in the rug and I tumbled, ass-over-teakettle down the stairs. I felt a burning sting on my knee, but the scorching humiliation was more painful and I just needed to bolt. It's a good thing theater attendants had better eyes than mine, as I was completely oblivious to the streams of blood trickling down my leg - it wasn't just a nasty rug burn. I limped over to a set of chairs where more flurried attention was thrust upon me by the staff who were gasping loudly, "Oh my god! Are you all right?!" "That's going to need stitches!" Et cetera. When, oh when, will invisibility cloaks become a reality??

I took off my Manolos (the stuck heel was actually ripped off of my shoe) and Kim gave me my flats that the universe had been telling me ALL NIGHT to put back on. More employees showed up with gauze, bandages and a package of dried up Wet Ones. After I cleaned up the my leg and staunched the flow from my knee, I pulled back the gauze and looked at what I was dealing with. There was a little mouth on my knee! No denying the need for stitches now. Kim left to get her car.

While she was gone, I cleaned up my leg and taped gauze over the wound. I was escorted to the front entrance with a chair. About fifteen minutes later Kim pulled up, I limped out into to her car (a great downpour had commenced at this point). She took me to the Jeep parked in the Braintree garage so I could retrieve my insurance card. I'd transferred my ID, some cash, cards and make-up to a small black bag, since I thought that's all I'd need for a night out on the town. As she drove I Googled "hospitals on the south shore with ERs". South Shore Hospital came up. I called them, told the operator where I was parked and she said they were ten minutes from there. Score!

I grabbed my things from the Jeep then we proceeded to South Shore Hospital. I was thoroughly pleased with my experience here. She dropped me at the entrance and went to park. While I was registering, Kim came in and gave me a cardigan. Her timing couldn't have been better as I was starting to shiver. After I was given my hospital bracelet, I firmly refused to be wheeled in a chair to the waiting area and limped over to, then plopped down in a chair, where I got to watch the last thirty seconds of what I hear was an ugly Patriots win. One guy even waved his hand at the TV and grumbled, "That was horrible!" Kim sat next to me with some homework to keep her occupied, then my name was called. The nurse insisted I sit in a wheelchair, so I acquiesced. After my vitals were taken I was rolled on back to an exam room.

The very nice PA introduced himself, I smiled and replied, "Hi. You know I got all dressed up just to come in and meet you." That made him laugh. So I rehashed my harrowing experience and he gave me an exam. I was a bit irritated that he wanted me to get an X-ray, since his exam clearly indicated no broken bones, AND he said the X-ray would only catch anything metal. The cha-ching of a cash register kept clanging away in my head, and I was supremely annoyed that trained medical professionals can no longer trust their training and common sense, and must insist on superfluous tests just to cover their asses, which contributes to skyrocketing medical costs. But I held my tongue in check, got my X-rays and was wheeled back to the exam room.

He explained all he was about to do - I'll spare you the gory details. He was quite an interesting guy...  Went to school for theater and tried to make a go of it in that industry and even started his own business. He still loves acting, but likes his specialty also. He and his wife just bought their first house, close to the hospital. With it's cathedral ceilings and open wood beaming, it sounded absolutely charming. He intimated that mowing his lawn filled him with nostalgic joy.

He sutured me up (seven stitches in all) and a nurse put my dressing on. After I was given the okay to go by the nurse, I gimped out of my exam room. I said good-bye to the PA, who said it was great to meet me (of course it was) and I hobbled on out to the waiting room. Kim, the-best-friend-anyone-could-ever-ask-for-and-I-don't-know-what-I-did-to-deserve-her, collected her things and went to get her car. I got all my paperwork and left the ER. The sky faucet had been turned off by now, the night sky was a black blanket a-twinkle with stars and the air smelled of ozone. I collapsed into the passenger seat and she chauffeured me back to the Jeep. My knee was shot full of so much lidocaine I was able to push in the clutch and drive my gimpy self home.

I didn't go into work yesterday, and my boss was very understanding. She said, "Meghan of course we don't expect you to come in if you just got stitches. Everything will be fine." Since sleep eluded me, I grabbed some zzzz's after everyone left. Ben came home from work early (glad I was able to give him a reason to). He said let him know if I needed anything, but that's just not in my DNA. Two things I do very poorly are ask for help and receive compliments. Things for me to work on.

I used the leftover grilled lemon chicken and tossed it with bowties and broccoli for lunch, then cleaned up the kitchen. After that I sat on the sofa and watched some TV. Ben did the important things - run out for my antibiotic (I have to take one pill four times a day for the next ten days), take my dresses to the cleaners and pick up the kids. Even though I'm lurching around here like Marty Feldman as Igor in Young Frankenstein, I just can't be still. I even find that the longer I'm still, the more my knee hurts.

This morning I carted myself to the Minute Clinic at the CVS five minutes away for a Tetanus shot. It was offered to me whilst in the ER, but I remember getting one recently and THOUGHT it was within the past five years. The more I thought about it, the last time I got a Tetanus shot was the last time I was in an ER. After I accidentally set myself on fire and had to be treated for second degree burns. That was when I lived outside of Seattle and Isaac couldn't have been more than three. Most likely two - and that was over five years ago. So to avoid getting lockjaw I went and got myself a Tetanus shot.

At one point that night Kim actually said, "You're never going to want to go out with me again!" I snorted and iterated, that I wouldn't blame her if SHE never wanted to take ME out again. All things considered, that experience could have been MUCH worse. Now I just may have a new ratings system... A seven stitches rating system. If I were given a choice of NOT going with Kim to see Wicked and my knee would be fine, or go and have the night play out exactly the way it did, I'd still go. It was totally worth seven stitches!


  1. Wow....that was some adventure and misadventure!! That's funny that you'd still choose to go even if you knew you'd have to get stitches. :)

    My MIL once had my hubby (in our pre-marriage days) go to Cats (off Broadway, playing in Philly) with her. On the way out of the play, she tripped on the sidewalk, cut her head, and had to get stitches at the hospital too!

    I think the moral of the story is: don't go to off-Broadway plays...LOL!

    Hope you're not in too much pain anymore and that your knee is healing well.

  2. OMGoodness! What an experience. I guess it goes to show ya, when in doubt, go for the flats!!

    Loved Wicked. We got to see it in Houston in July. So amazing, I cried in the middle of it!

    Hope you heal soon!!


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