Burgers and Blood Tests: A Father’s Day Odyssey
One of my favorite Father’s Day presents was the variety pack of 24 bottles of hot sauces from around the world. That was about three years ago, and I figure I’ve still got about 19 bottles left. Clearly, I’ve got some catching up to do, before the hot sauces turn into not sauces. Sadly, it doesn’t take much capsaicin these days to generate beads of sweat on my forehead. My tolerance for spicy condiments has decreased as my age has increased – what you math-inclined folks might call an inverse relationship.
As this year’s Father’s Day approached, I briefly wondered what the kids had in store for me this time around. I’ve always been perfectly happy receiving hand-written cards from them – they’re so darned cute and can be surprisingly creative and thoughtful! I’ve discouraged them from spending any money on me – I’d much rather have them treat themselves – but they always disregard my wishes and purchase unnecessary gifts. I think the DSM[1] diagnostic term for that kind of recalcitrant behavior is Hallmarkitis.
So, a few days before Father’s Day, I was pleasantly surprised to hear that I wouldn’t be getting any new socks, underwear, or a gift card to some big-box store. Nope, instead, the plan was to go down to the ferry dock with the wife and kids, walk on the ferry to Kingston, and trudge uphill a few blocks to my favorite burger joint, the Grub Hut, for lunch. That sounded fantastic – I couldn’t have chosen a better gift myself! I absolutely love ferry rides, especially on summer days, and for the price you can’t find a better burger anywhere in the greater Seattle area. On the appointed day, we set out for the ferry. My daughter had been experiencing back pain for a few days, but she was a trooper, and we stuck to the plan.
The Grub Hut cannot be easily described. It’s equal parts surf shack, dive bar, tiki hut, and hippie hang out, and could have been a set in the movie Grease. Retro music plays on the speakers, and the few outdoor tables are repurposed surfboards. A hanging curtain of beads separates the restroom from the main eating area. The smell of fried foods perfumes the air. The Hut has the largest selection of bottled hot sauces around, including my current fave, cheekily entitled “Butt Pucker” (they were all out of Anal Angst, unfortunately). The selection of burgers is huge, and you can add everything from black olives, to pico-de-gallo, to fried eggs, to pineapple and more to your burger. The fried pickles are great too. After a sufficiently greasy but delicious meal we headed back to the dock and boarded the ferry for the return trip.
Railroad Avenue is the lengthy north/south arterial that parallels the coastline and separates the Edmonds waterfront from the rest of town. As the name suggests, the street runs alongside the railroad tracks and is bordered by a chain-link fence that separates car and train traffic. As the ferry inched closer to the pier, we noticed a strange sight – a freight train sat motionless on the tracks. Walk-on passengers and cars were able to disembark from the docked ferry but couldn’t get far – the miles-long train blocked both major intersections that cross Railroad Avenue and provide access to downtown Edmonds. As long as the train remained in its current position, there was no way to cross the tracks.
We waited with the other stranded ferry passengers for over an hour before hearing that the train had struck someone on the tracks – sadly, a fatal incident – and the ongoing investigation was likely to take hours to complete. However, after enough collective grumbling from ferry riders eager to get home, the police allowed people to clamber in-between rail cars where the tracks were accessible. We did our best imitation of train-hopping hobos. The act of maneuvering up and over the pipes, stanchions, and wire harnesses connecting the rail cars was cumbersome and not unlike challenges faced by contestants on American Ninja Warrior, but we were able to cross the tracks and head home! Unfortunately, the effort aggravated my daughter’s preexisting back pain.
As we made our way to our parked car, her back pain flared up and she couldn’t walk. It hurt her to breathe. I walked quickly to the car and returned to pick her and the family up, and at my daughter’s urging headed directly to the local hospital emergency room. Every bump in the road, acceleration or deceleration caused her to moan in pain.
Parking the car at the hospital, I could conceive of two likely scenarios. The first one envisioned a sparsely populated ER because most people would be consumed with Father’s Day activities. The other scenario was that lots of dads had done many stupid things on “their day” and the ER would be swamped. Guess which scenario prevailed?
We checked my daughter in and waited while she sat in pain. A young fellow was curled up on a couch, hacking. An elderly woman waited in her wheelchair while her husband played Sudoku. A translator sat with a Hispanic family. Quite the slice of humanity! From a makeshift cubicle tucked into an odd corner of the waiting area, a nurse boomed out my daughter’s name, but it was just to check her vitals. Then it was back to the waiting area.
An hour later they called my daughter again – a young doctor met with her for about 10 minutes and then came out to give us the preliminary diagnosis: pleurisy, a painful inflammation of the lung. Huh? How could that be? They were going to insert an IV, do blood tests, and get an x-ray. In the meantime, they gave her some extra strength Tylenol and a lidocaine patch on her back.
Soon they wheeled her back into the bowels of the hospital and we waited in the linoleum-floored waiting area. And waited some more. Nothing like waiting to get test results for your child, especially if a potentially serious condition is involved. Finally, the young doctor approached, wheeling my daughter in front of her. She led us to a consultation room, where she told us the news: everything was fine!!! The blood tests, x-rays, and heart function were all normal. The likely diagnosis: some combination of muscle strain and/or pinched nerve. She would probably experience back pain for a while, but between Tylenol, ibuprofen, and the occasional lidocaine patch, she would heal nicely.
Huge collective sigh of relief! (except for my daughter, of course, who had to limit her movement). After three and a half hours at the hospital, we finally got home around 9 pm and ravaged the refrigerator – we hadn’t eaten anything since our lunch excursion.
A few days later my daughter still had some back pain, but otherwise was doing fine. I’m already thinking about next year’s Father’s Day, though… some hand-written cards might be just what the doctor ordered.
[1] Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders
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