Have to add this little bit: The last time I went to the E.R. at Davies (I broke my nose on my 'office' chair with steel feet and cracked two ribs), the dear little doctor who took care of me, sewed up the nose gash and told me they can't do anything for a cracked rib but tell you not to laugh or cough, was named David Crockett. Hurt my ribs to laugh, he was right. Since I had forgotten to bring a friends phone number to get picked up, he gave me a sleeping pill and put me in an empty room.
This time, I just sprained the right foot (they think... as usual), but I got my Percoset to keep down the pain... and took a cab home alone. As I looked at the prescription today when I was sending Anstasia over to Walgreen's, I finally found the name of the doctor who took care of me and wrote the prescription -- He is named Leif Eriksen. OK... so he is probably Danish (ends in 'sen'), but that's a pretty good pair of ER doctors to have... right? Next, Christopher Columbus?
Coincidence is ME, or perhaps US -- my sister Betty Rae's birthday is D-Day, my son Mark's is the day that JFK was shot, and mine... lovely day: 9/11.
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