On the upside, I didn't die...

Remember how last night I mentioned that I was afraid I wouldn't blog if I had to wait until I got home? Well, turns out that premise was totally true, just not for the reasons I thought. As it happens, I actually had a very eventful (read: stressful) evening last night--and it all started almost the second after I had finished posting. So, settle in with a blanket and bowl of popcorn because this story might take a while...(Disclaimer: this post will contain some curse words. I thought about editing them out after I read through this, but the effort seemed like too much after all the writing I had just done. If you're offended, I'm sorry. Maybe you can replace them with more innocuous phrases when you read this to yourself...like "stars and garters" or "darn-tootin.")

Let us set the stage, shall we?

It seemed to be a typical after hours shift at the clinic. People were arriving in en masse to been seen for a variety of cold and flu symptoms from the lingering winter weather; with a smattering of teenage boys and grown men being seen for sports or manual labor related injuries. We were unlucky in the fact that there had been no lunch earlier that day, and as the time worn on to the middle of the shift our collective stomachs began to rumble--sending us to forage through the candy jars and our co-workers "secret" stashes of snacks. But all was not as bleak as it seemed...We were fortunate enough to be working with one of the more thoughtful and generous providers; and he very kindly offered to buy us all dinner. However, there was just one catch: he could order and pay for the meal, but someone else would need to go pick it up.

Well, I thought, I could do it. After all, he can't go because he needs to be here for the patients, and same goes for the nurse and MA. The lab has been slammed running all those throat cultures, and we only have the one receptionist...and I haven't had a patient for about an hour since that kid who slipped at recess... "I can go," I said. Little realizing that those three small words effectively strapped me onto a roller coaster of hair-raising stupidity that would last for two hours. Everyone thanked me, and he was handing me his card and the written order when I realized I had no idea where the heck he had even ordered from.

"Um, where am I going?" I said as he turned to walk away. "Oh, Maddox," he said. "It's out in Perry right before you get to Brigham City." He then proceeded to describe the area as I nodded and tried to look like I actually understood his directions. (I totally didn't understand his directions.) I waited for him to walk away and then quickly swiveled around to my computer to get directions from Google Maps. I should have just printed the damn thing off then, but I was overly confident in my navigational abilities...after all, it looked like a straight line from my office to the restaurant.

Yeah, well, turns out that a straight line doesn't feel so straight when you are on an unlit back road trying to squint as you pass street signs making sure that you're still headed in the right direction. Everyone had described it as about a 10-15 minute drive but it felt like I had been going for much longer than that. I don't know for sure, because I didn't think to check the clock and time myself as I pulled out of the parking lot. But I started to lose my confidence...I thought about the time I had tried to drive to Logan by myself for the first time and only realized something wasn't right when I started to see signs saying Pocatello in 30 miles...Or the time I almost turned onto the off-ramp of the freeway because I was at an unfamiliar intersection in the dark...you get the picture.

Well, I was so focused on trying to drown out the voice in my head saying, You can't do this! You got lost in Bountiful, moron! That's your own hometown...how the hell are you going to find your way to Perry--a town you never even heard of-- in the dark without a sense of direction or GPS? that I almost died.

I was just cresting over a slight rise on the road when not ten feet in front of me I saw three deer strung out across the road. (Just so you know the speed limit here was 55 and I may have been doing something more like 65 as I tend to get "lead foot" when I'm stress driving.) Well I let loose a scream and a stream of very un-lady-like language while one hand flew down to cover my belly as I clenched my entire body. (Not like my hand would have helped the situation much, but I can safely say that I was not thinking rationally at that moment.) I thank heaven above for granting me a moment of ninja-like reflexes as I swerved between the two does that were farthest apart...narrowly missing them by about 3 inches on either side of my vehicle...I never hit my brakes, I just took my foot off the gas until I coasted to a stop on the side of the road, and slowly unclenched my muscles and discovered I was crying. I also discovered that my bladder had started to react to the sudden appearance of the deer before I did, because as I tried to relax I realized I had involuntarily peed somewhere in my brush with death. Not a whole super lot--but enough to leave a damp spot between my thighs. Now I was crying out of frustration.

It was at this point in the drive that I said "screw it" and called the receptionist so she could give me directions to the freeway. At least that road would be lit and deer-free. Somehow my voice stayed steady through the entire conversation, so I was spared having to explain my tears, although I did apologize profusely for getting lost. (I found out later that if I had kept going straight for about five more minutes, I would have been there. I hate nighttime driving. And deer. I now feel that Chrissy may have had a point all these years...)

While I was calming down from the whole deer incident and had managed to find the freeway, I was still flustered enough that I didn't realize I was in the wrong lane to get on the Northbound I-15...

Yeah, I got on the Southbound instead and wasn't able to get off until I was almost back where I had started. Now I was pissed...literally and metaphorically. I turned around and got back on the Northbound and called my husband. He answered with a friendly "Hey, sweetheart" and it was all I could do to try and speak around my hysterics and tears. I demanded that he get to a place where he could look up where I was and give me turn by turn directions on how to get to the restaurant before my night descended any further into the seventh circle of Hell...he did. And he also did his best to calm me down, which admittedly wasn't much, but I do appreciate the effort. Now. I'm not sure, but I think I may have called him some names at the time...I love you, sweets, so you know I didn't mean it.

With his help I was finally able to find the stupid place. However, there had been a fender bender type accident at the intersection where I needed to turn so I sat staring malevolently through the traffic for another 15 minutes until it was my turn to go through. Seriously?!, I thought, There is no way this night could get any worse. Oh, but it could.

Turns out that Maddox isn't just a one building restaurant. No, it's a sprawling complex of three different buildings. And, wouldn't you know it? I picked the wrong one.

I got confused trying to figure out which entrance I was supposed to go to, and I finally got fed up. So, I parked in a handicapped spot--which was pretty much the only open spot in the entire lot-- and started to march up to the front doors looking splotchy from crying and--I suddenly realized--probably still smelling slightly of urine. Great. Now, in a rush of embarrassment I was trying to take small, mincing steps to hide any possible pee stains that I hadn't had time to check for yet, and I was drawing funny looks from the sizeable crowd of people waiting to be seated. It wasn't until I got to the front desk that I realized all these people were in Sunday clothes...I had picked the "fine dining" portion to walk into and pick up my order while wearing pee-scrubs. Even more awesome.

When I finally reached the line of people waiting to talk to the lady behind the desk, I looked up and saw a wall clock that said it was ten to eight. My clinic closes at eight. I called our receptionist again, told her a bit of what happened to make me so late, and asked her to check if I should even bother picking the food up at this point. Surprisingly she said yes; apparently we'd had a spurt of last minute check-ins and would be staying a little late anyway. Well, at least this trip wouldn't have been for nothing. I also felt very lucky that the woman at the desk was so nice and professional; despite my mistake of coming to the wrong door, she let me pay for everything there and called the kitchen to tell them to bring the order up to me.

I was standing around in the fancy people's lobby, trying to be inconspicuous, when I suddenly heard someone calling my name. I turned around, thinking it might be the food already, but no--it was a group of ultrasound techs from my department. They had just been about to leave when one of them recognized me and they all came to say hi and pat my belly. Normally I wouldn't have minded, and would have loved to chat with them for a bit, but the only thing running through my brain was, Please don't let them see I peed. Please don't let them smell I peed. Please just let me crawl in a hole and die right now.

Thankfully I was saved by the arrival of my order after only two minutes of standing with a forced smile and my legs clenched so hard together that I was getting sore. I grabbed up the bags while saying my goodbyes and trying to make the most graceful exit I could while still attempting to perfect my weird little "geisha walk." Based on the looks I got, I think I still have some practicing to do...

The drive back to the clinic was much less eventful. I think Someone finally took pity on me...I walked through the doors about two minutes after they finished with the last patient, so everyone just sat down in the break room to chat and commiserate about my driving experience. Well, they sat. I tried to lounge nonchalantly against a wall while eating...I had declined to tell them about my incontinence issues and they were all so focused on the food that I don't think anyone noticed that I kept my back to them at all times...But as soon as I had finished, they all pressed the leftovers on me, saying I should take them home to try and make up for the drive. (Yeah, right. Still, it was a nice gesture and it meant I wouldn't have to worry about what Patrick would attempt in the kitchen...so take them, I did.)

Patrick called to check on me as I was driving home, and wanting to know if I'd like to see a movie or do something fun after my freak show of a night. I thanked him and asked if I could take a rain check on the movie--all I had left in me to do that night was bathe before falling into bed.

Yeah, I totally wouldn't have blogged then...But on the plus side, I didn't die--from a collision or embarrassment--and I have a movie date to look forward to when I get off work tonight. Monty Python was right: "Always look on the bright side of life."