by Christine Thackeray
On Wednesday at noon I got a call from my sixteen-year-old son that he had broken his arm playing catch at recess. My husband, who was just hired by a local hospital but hasn't started work yet, wanted to come, and we picked Camron up.
My son's arm was definitely broken. It looked fine until a few inches below the wrist when it stair-stepped a few inches north and then looked normal the rest of the way. It almost seemed like an optical illusion, except for the fact that my son was unusually quite.
We called the insurance to ask what to do so it would be covered. He began a litany of questions but I interupted and said "My son's arm is definitely broken with a compound fraction. Just answer yes or no. Can I go to the emergency room and will it be covered?" The man said "Yes, go to the emergency room."
I told my husband to go to the closest hospital, and we did. As we waited for the nurses to call him, my husband remembered that when I hurt my back this summer they took me to a hospital on the other side of town. He called the insurance company from the ER again and asked if we could go to any ER. They said no. They only paid for one hospital. So we left that hospital and rushed the half hour away to go to the other hospital- turns out, that is where my husband was hired the next day. Wierd coincidence of events, huh.
Anyway, what struck me was the fact that it wasn't not asking questions that got me in trouble but not asking enough questions. I've started a new writer's group and it interests me how often as writers we have wonderful plot points but never get specific because we haven't fleshed out the specifics ourselves. It wasn't enough that I asked the critical question, I ask a lot more. I hope that's a lesson I don't forget.