June Cleaver Nirvana

Today was planned to be blissful. My mother came over and I dumped provided her with three handsome grandsons to watch. I took a shower, did my hair, put on some cute clothes including my favorite sweater (MAJOR forshadowing here) and skipped out of the house, hopped in the minivan, drove down the driveway toward a day of leisurely errands, shopping for an outfit to wear tomorrow to a hip restaurant for my grand 16th anniversary celebration, and picking up a coffee and lunch. I needed to stop at the mailbox to mail the LAST returned Christmas card and when I re-opened the door to the minivan to climb in it hit my head. I paused for a moment in pain and feeling stupid until I realized that blood was gushing from my head. Gushing! Did I mention that I am in my favorite sweater on my way to Mommy's day out? Crap...I backed the van back toward the house, ran into the house and grabbed some paper towels. You could easily trace my steps by the blood trail (just like on L&O). Once inside and applying pressure I checked myself in the mirror and realized that this was something that required professional help. I called my mom down, we loaded up the minivan with 3 kids and started on the way to the hospital where blog-Stedman works. I called him to alert him to the emergency. 20 minutes later he and one of his partners assess my case in the parking lot behind the hospital and decide that I need to see a plastic surgeon and there is not one at this hospital. We start calling hospitals all over the metroplex and no one seems to have one on-call (it is a holiday weekend, etc.). Finally, we find a hospital that indicates they know of a plastic surgeon and off goes the minivan with grandma driving, me bleeding and the 3 boys along for the ride. 30 minutes later I get dropped off at the ER at the new hospital (so grandma doesn't have to entertain 3 boys in the ER waiting room for a yet to be determined time). The ER is nice and I am there 2 1/2 hours until they send me to a plastic surgeon's office 15 minutes away. Off goes the minivan again and 1 1/2 hours later I am stitched up by a very accomodating plastic surgeon and home bound. We get home at 4:30 exhausted, I am $540 poorer (that would have bought couture!) and I look like I was in a horror movie sans the axe in my head. The scar/stitches are shaped in a lovely 1/2 circle resembling the mouth of a smiley face. I think I better not post pictures quite yet. I have to go wash the red highlights out of my hair...Did I mention that I was wearing my favorite sweater?