Saturday night, following my doctor's orders, my husband took me to the Cedars ER to get an ultrasound study of my left leg, which had turned purple and blue overnight. My doctor wanted to make sure I wasn't harboring a blood clot.
A black man slouched two seats away was eying my husband. "How are you with God?"
At that moment the ultrasound technician wheeled his equipment into the room. I should have threatened sooner.
"Sorry about the wait," he said.
He told us he was the only ultrasound technician on duty. "I feel bad for the patients, but good about the job security."
I didn't blame him.
He applied warm gel to my leg and thigh. "No clot," he informed me when he was done.
That was good news.
Another hour went by before the handsome and still charming Dr. D signed me out. "Sorry about the long wait," he said. I could tell he meant it.
Back at home, my husband and I watched one of the shows we'd taped on our DVR and had two scoops each of Baskin-Robbins Jamoca Almond Fudge.