On Sunday, Mother’s Day, Susan was filling up her car at a gas station when the gas pump’s handle physically broke. The broken pump’s handle sprayed gas directly into her eyes, nose, and mouth, as well as all over the outside (and partially inside) her car. Susan looked for an emergency shut off button and a call attendant button and, unable to find either, ran inside the station to have someone shut off the pump as the hose continued to shoot gasoline all over the parking lot. The attendant’s response: “Oh, is pump number two broken again?”

Within a few minutes, multiple firetrucks and police cars arrived on the scene. After filling out all the required paperwork, Susan was able to get a refund — she had prepaid using a credit card at the pump, which had sprayed several hundreds of dollars worth of gasoline into the parking lot. After the paperwork was complete, Susan was sent released with gas in her hair, on her clothes and shoes, and all over her car. Other than some burning in her eyes and throat, everything seemed fine.

Monday, approximately 24 hours after the incident, Susan walked into our bathroom and began vomiting blood. Five minutes later we were in my car, on our way to Mercy Hospital’s emergency room.

For those who haven’t had the pleasure of checking in to an emergency room recently, allow me to summarize the experience.

1:00 PM: Susan and I entered the emergency room. A woman sitting behind a small card table asked us what our emergency was. We said, “my wife is vomiting blood.” The lady handed us a number and asked us to take a seat in the lobby.

1pm – 3:30pm: We spent the next 2 1/2 hours sitting in the waiting room with two dozen other people all in varying states of health. Directly next to us were the Hillbilly Stooges, a trio of women who watched TMZ clips and country music videos at full blast on their cell phones, only taking occasional breaks to discuss the ins and outs of the Johnny Depp/Amber Heard divorce case. The vending machine containing bottled water was out of order, although the one stocked with $3.75 bottles of Starbucks conveniently takes credit cards. Also, when a patient who doesn’t speak English arrives, the hospital dials a translator on speaker phone which everyone in the waiting room can hear. As one man in a wheelchair moaned at the desk, everyone in the waiting room fell silent as we waited for the translation: “I have great pain in my private parts!”

3:30pm: Susan was taken back to a room, with me in tow. A group of doctors/assistants/medical staff began flowing into and out of the room. After asking a few questions and looking into her throat, it was determined they would take a few X-rays. An X-ray technician rolled a mobile X-ray machine into the room and took a few pictures while I stood safely outside the room in the hallway. (I sure hope those rays can’t go through a curtain and some glass!)

4:30pm: Nothing showed up on the X-rays. The doctor could not determine what caused the incident. Susan was released with a slap on the back and a hearty “good luck to ya.” The bill should arrive in 7-10 days.

Susan and I arrived back home a little after 5pm. After dinner, shower, and a nap, Susan was already off and running, attending one of Morgan’s band performances. Except for the single incident she’s feeling fine. It’s tough to decide whether no news is better than bad news or not. Either way, whatever happened seems to have been an isolated event. Susan will be following up with her primary provider soon.