When he called to give me the morning report, our conversation went something like this:
"How was your night? Did the kids sleep well?"
"No; I was up all night—I lost count after getting the baby for the fourth time. I'm exhausted."
"That sucks. Sorry to hear that."
"I'm going to need a nap today, for sure. How was your night?"
"It was terrible. I had to get up a bunch of times and the calls were perfectly spaced apart, so I didn't sleep either. I'm going to need a nap too."
There's no surer way to waste that day off sandwiched between two 24 hour shifts than by spending it trying to work in naps for both of us. On my end, it's totally worth the sleep deprivation. Restful nights are something I gladly—albeit unenthusiastically—gave up when I decided to have three children. They're cute, and they love me, and I love them. We have an understanding.
On his end, however...
One would hope that he was kept up all night for valid reasons. You know, like putting out fires, using power tools to extricate people from traffic collisions, or bringing people back from the brink of death. Or to help people who are not able to help themselves. Not for life or death 2 a.m. emergencies like oh, say, a guy who felt like a piece of sand was stuck in his eye after having cataract surgery. Or for someone who was moderately hurting because she didn't refill her pain medication, and had been feeling said pain for the last TWO WEEKS. Why, out of that whole 14 day period, did she a: not refill her prescription, and b: not choose daylight hours to finally do something about it?
There has been a lot of discussion in the EMS bloggy world of late about crazy calls. In addition to the obvious reasons why not to call 911 at night when you don't have an actual emergency, might I add, it really puts a wrench in the family's plans when dad comes home from work exhausted from running BS calls all night.
Ho Ho Lady, this one's for you.
I'm sure you thought that whole fifteen minutes of constipation after eating too many Ho Hos was life-threatening. Your horror must have felt real and justified, your fingers trembling as you dialed 911.
There are other ways to solve the problem than waking my husband up in the middle of the night to come swear at you under his breath. You probably realized this as you were placed in some forsaken corner of the E.R. waiting room, forgotten about, then finally given a laxative that you could have gotten easier and quicker (and cheaper) if you had just driven yourself to the corner drug store.
If you're going to waste your tax dollars by abusing the 911 system, please do so during daylight hours, if you don't mind. I'd appreciate it—it would make my life a lot easier. It would probably make your life easier, too. Thanks.