Last night, at about 9:20, Jonathan came home with the news that, a few feet from home, he'd twisted his ankle and he was in great pain. He was still waffling about going to the hospital to get it looked at while I served dinner.
Then it started to swell.
We finished dinner, called a cab and went to a smallish hospital fairly close to us with a small ER. We got there just after 10PM. It wasn't especially crowded that we could see - three or four family groups, including another guy limping with a bad ankle, maybe one or two by themselves. And, indeed, over the next hour, the room emptied out. By 11:30 or so, Jonathan had gone through the admission process (not for overnight!) and been x-rayed. An hour later or so, he was sitting in a little room and about to get his foot wrapped up.
And a true emergency came in and that was that. There was the flurry for treatment and then - this was awful - the patient died and they'd brought them to the room where Jonathan was, and he had to go to an anteroom and he could hear them cry. This was wrong, so he walked across the hallway (bad foot bare) leaning on his cane and waited with me in the waiting room, propping his foot up on another chair.
I spent a lot of the night chatting with a woman about my age who'd come in with her boyfriend, who probably had pneumonia and was waiting to see if he'd be admitted or not. And there was the young mother who'd left her baby at home, and who needed a bandage.
Finally, at 2:30, the young woman was treated, my new friend was told her boyfriend had been pumped through with antibiotics and admitted to the hospital, so she could go home, and Jonathan's foot was wrapped and he was given instructions (ice, elevation, ibuprofen, don't sleep in the wrap) - all at the same time by the same efficient nurse. No signs of injury beyond a sprain, thank goodness.
We got a cab, we came home, I made us cheese sandwiches because it had been a long time since dinner and went to sleep about 3AM.
He's still asleep, thank goodness.