A Hole in my Sock Almost Killed Me

The nurse and I saw the hole in my sock at the same time. The look on her face seemed like it wanted to be compassionate — the way that I want to be more forgiving of judgmental nurses — but really it was just kind of judgmental.

I glanced up at her with a look that was meant to convey humorous apology and slight embarrassment.

“So, what did you say was wrong again?” she asked curtly. She was looking down at a chart which had to have my symptoms on it — a very specific and thorough explanation of the abdominal pain I was experiencing— since I’d really only filled out the one piece of paper so far, and that had been near the center of it.

I wanted to make up something that contradicted it, like “Oh, it’s swamp ass. I’ve got a bad case of the swamp ass. Got some butt cream or something?”

The whole emergency room was giving me a weird vibe. I’d had to excuse myself from class and call my girlfriend to take me to the hospital. There was an agonizing, stabbing pain right in the center of my torso, and I didn’t want to hear all the co-eds scream if an alien burst from my chest. They generally squealed enough on their own.