Previously on “Leaving Las Vegas”: David took a little melon ball out of his finger in the Las Vegas airport, paramedics were called, stitches were required, flights were missed, taxis were taken, people waited, I got frustrated, David was administered to, Nancy almost fainted.
The person at the front desk of the clinic called us a cab to take us to our hotel. The cab arrived within a few minutes and we all climbed in the back seat. Our very well-dressed driver asked where we were going to. I told him, “The Double-Tree Club on Pollack Drive.” He stared at me blankly. “Near the Applebee’s on Warm Springs Road,” I said. More blankness. I called the Double-Tree Club and asked for directions. We barely found the place.
When we were still at the airport, the representative from the airline had given me a number to call, ensuring me that this would lead to a discounted hotel room in the Las Vegas area. I called the number from the waiting room of the clinic and got a quick response, from someone clearly not in Vegas, that the Double-Tree Club could be had for $54 a night. I agreed to the deal. When we got to the Double-Tree Club, however, they had no record of our reservation through the national – perhaps international – service I had called. Apparently, I was supposed to be given a voucher – a blue piece of paper with some special powers – by the airline. But of course! They had a room, but it would be $95 for the night. “Fine,” I said, resolving to deal with the airline when we got home.
We went up to our room and discovered that Trinity had busted out of her pull-up and was in need of new pants. We had a back-up in her backpack, so we quickly changed her into a new pull-up and new pants. It was her last pull-up. Had we been on our scheduled flight back to Indianapolis this would not be a problem. But we were stuck in Vegas until 3:30 p.m. the next day – not back home in Terre haute until midnight. And she’s not fully potty-trained yet. Certain disaster lurked.
Additionally, we had no luggage (it had made the flight to Indy) and thus no toiletries and no fresh clothes for either Nancy or myself. It was shaping up to be quite a fine (meaning uncomfortable, perhaps even sticky/stinky) 28 hours.
We were hungry. We went to the Applebee’s across the parking lot from the hotel and our waitress, Monica, a woman with long press-on French tip nails, innocently asked how we were. We told her the truth. She brought us milk for the kids and two giant beers for the grown-ups. We ate a large, if not particularly good, meal while Trin and Dave flirted with the couples on either side our booth. Dave told everyone about his “boo-boo” wielding his metal-splinted middle finger like something out of “Phantom of the Paradise.” I asked Monica where we might find a pharmacy nearby – say, within walking distance. She said that there wasn’t anything that close, but there was a CVS down the road. She offered to bring us some pull-ups when she got off work at 11:30. For some reason I declined.
We paid for dinner, gave Monica a healthy tip, and walked back to our room. I told Nancy I was going out to find pull-ups and toothbrushes/toothpaste. In her exhaustion she let me go.
My first stop was the front desk to see if they knew of anything close by. They suggested the “Rebel” station about 500 yards away. Apparently, they carry baby formula, so pull-ups were a possibility. And so I walked over there. It was chilly out – about 50 – and my coat was in our luggage, by this time safe and warm in the Indianapolis airport. When I got to the Rebel station it became immediately clear that I was going to be out of luck. If I wanted a package of Beef Jerky or one of any number of energy drinks or a lighter, I’d have been fine. But pull-ups were out of the question. Strangely, Depends were stocked heavily. I’m still not totally sure what this says about Las Vegas, but I think I can guess.
Feeling defeated and desperate, and imagining a scenario in which I am covered in Trinity urine for the rest of the trip, I ask the fellow behind the counter where I might find a pharmacy. I had already asked this question of 2 people and gotten the same answer. I don’t know what I was expecting this time. But, to my exhausted delight, he said, “Just down at the next light.”
“That doesn’t seem so bad,” I thought to myself. And off I went.
Being the West, of course, the next light is not merely a block away. I could see it, but it was a hike. Nothing I couldn’t deal with though, especially to keep everyone safe and dry. And so I started to walk in my thin sweater and my uncomfortable, somewhat stylish, but just-for-getting-through-security, slip-on loafers. As I got closer to the light, I could tell that I’d been misled. This light was merely for the on-ramp to the highway. The next light was at least another mile away. Plus, the 5-lane road that I was walking on, was suddenly without a sidewalk – just a small patch of grass bordering a curb. I was starting to feel truly abject and not just a little vulnerable.
But I trudged on, the lights of CVS, with its promises of dry sheets and minty-fresh breath, like a beacon in the distance, urging me forward.
And I walked….and I walked.
I called my parents on the way, just to let them know where we were. We talked for a while. I called Nancy, just to let he know what was going on. We talked for a while. I continued to walk.
Eventually, I got to CVS, bought my stuff (declining the generous offer of a CVS card), and made the long trek back, wondering all the while why we hadn’t just taken Monica up on her offer.
When I got back to the room, Trin was asleep in one bed, wearing a t-shirt and nothing else. David was still up with Nancy. I wrangled Trin into a new pull-up without waking her and settled in the bathroom with my laptop – checking email – while Nancy got Dave to sleep.
We brushed our teeth, Nancy took a bath, and we went to bed, dog tired. This was the worst of it, we assured ourselves. We’d survived. Tomorrow would be better…
Except for having to wear the same underwear.
To be continued…
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
This is 40
Today is Nancy's birthday.
She's 40.
Dave, Trin, Peanut, and I decided to put together a little montage. We thought we'd try something in the spirit of Jimi Hendrix's version of "The Star Spangled Banner" - you know...the melody is there, but the real sentiment is in between the notes. Anyhow, enjoy. And PLEASE join us in the comments section to wish Nancy a sweet farewell to her 30s.
She's 40.
Dave, Trin, Peanut, and I decided to put together a little montage. We thought we'd try something in the spirit of Jimi Hendrix's version of "The Star Spangled Banner" - you know...the melody is there, but the real sentiment is in between the notes. Anyhow, enjoy. And PLEASE join us in the comments section to wish Nancy a sweet farewell to her 30s.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Leaving Las Vegas, Part I
They say that whatever happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas. For David this means part of the middle finger on his right hand.
We left San Diego fully intact. We were fine when we landed in Las Vegas. And then all Hell broke loose.
We had promised the kids that they could each get a toy once we got to Las Vegas – something that would keep them occupied in the airport and, hopefully, during at least part of the 3-plus hour flight back to Indianapolis. We got to our gate and settled in amongst our too-many, too-heavy carry-on bags. We were flying Southwest and the kids started playing with one of those poles they use to demarcate the boarding order. This particular pole was the one that has the sign on top with three sides: A, B, and C. It spun around another pole inside of it. “Guys, stop playing with that,” I must have said at least 25 times.
Eventually, Nancy took Dave to get his promised toy and I stayed with Trin to guard the bags (and harangue her about playing with the pole). Dave got a firefighter set from the Husdon News store. They returned and it was my turn to take Trin. She got a white giraffe with hearts all over it, as well as a magnet and a purple pen for Nancy. Just before we left, she noticed a pink pencil adorned with a heart on top. She wanted it as well, but I vetoed her. When we got back to the gate, Dave was happily playing with his firefighter set, but Trin was still peeved about the lack of pink-pencil-with-heart-on-top. I tried to get her on to something else (like her $10 ugly-ass giraffe) but she wasn’t giving in. And so, like all good fathers, I caved…huffily, but still I caved. We made the long trek back to Hudson News, got pencil (now a magic wand) and hiked back.
When I got in sight of Nancy, I saw that she was holding Dave and was talking to another couple. We had been chatted up by several people already about the kids – were they adopted, were they from a previous marriage (my favorite), where were they from, would we like tips on straightening Trin’s hair (uh, no), etc. – and so I thought we were getting more of the same. Nancy caught my eye and motioned for me to pick up the pace a little. When I got there, I could see (and hear) that Dave was crying and Nancy was holding his hand tightly in order to stop the blood flow. The couple in question had brought ice and paper towels to help out.
Dave, it seems, decided that the pole was still more interesting than a firefighter set and started spinning it around again. Nancy heard him say “Ow!” and looked over to see him pull his finger away and grab it with his other hand. Thinking he’d merely pinched his finger, she walked over…
BLOOD…BLOOD…MORE BLOOD…SCREAMING…TEARS SPRAYING OUT OF DAVE’S EYES
By the time I got there, both the airline and the airport had sent representatives to take names and write reports. Paramedics were called. Five showed up…with a stretcher. Together, they determined that Dave needed stitches and that we would have to go to the emergency room in an ambulance, or an Urgent Care center in a cab. We chose the latter, though I think Dave would have preferred the former. In any case, Nancy and Dave got to ride in a wheelchair while I followed, carrying all the bags and Trinity to the taxi stand.
It turns out that cab drivers in Las Vegas know very little about the city itself. It wasn’t that our man didn’t know where this particular Urgent Care Center was; he didn’t seem to know what we were talking about. Street names, landmarks…nothing. But they are better dressed than any other cab drivers on the planet.
In any case, we did finally arrive at the clinic and checked in. Nancy started the paperwork while I watched the kids. Within a few minutes, a nurse came over and told us that the doctor thought that David should actually go to the pediatric hospital. They would triage him at the clinic, but then send him over to the hospital: no need to finish the paperwork. They called Dave in to triage within a few minutes and determined that they would, in fact, be able to treat him since, well, there was no skin left to actually suture and anything the hospital could do, they could do as well.
And so we sat…and sat…and sat…and watched all sorts of people come in after us and get treated before us. Trin was without nap and was morphing into all of the Flying Wallendas at once – running and hopping and flipping and flopping. We turned passive aggressive, talking about our plight in increasingly loud voices. Finally, I went to the window and asked why we were still sitting there in the waiting room. It turns out that since we hadn’t filled out the paperwork we were, thus, not even in line to be seen.
I stuffed the brains back into my head, asked for the clipboard with the forms on it, and filled out the paperwork. No, Dave does not smoke. No, Dave does not currently have a problem with alcohol or drugs. No, Dave does not have ulcers.
And, like magic, he got in to see the doctor. Mary Lou Retton and I stayed behind in the waiting room. She sprinted from one end to the other while I had a nice long chat with Rudy, the guy next to me who got poked in the finger by a piece of luggage and came to the clinic in a panic about staph infections and – yes, he said it – hepatitis. He made at least four phone calls to loved ones while we were there, just in case he didn’t make it, I assumed. Or maybe he knows something we don’t. Like whatever goes in your finger, stays in your finger.
Nancy and Dave returned after about 30 minutes, Dave looking no worse for wear, and Nancy looking a wee bit wan, having actually nearly fainted when they pulled the bandage off his finger and blood began pouring out again. She described it as the sudden sensational combination of ringing in her ears, cold sweats, and a desire to vomit. She decided to sit down, and recovered quickly, or so I am told. I was too busy spotting Nadia Comaneci on the uneven bars.
To be continued....
We left San Diego fully intact. We were fine when we landed in Las Vegas. And then all Hell broke loose.
We had promised the kids that they could each get a toy once we got to Las Vegas – something that would keep them occupied in the airport and, hopefully, during at least part of the 3-plus hour flight back to Indianapolis. We got to our gate and settled in amongst our too-many, too-heavy carry-on bags. We were flying Southwest and the kids started playing with one of those poles they use to demarcate the boarding order. This particular pole was the one that has the sign on top with three sides: A, B, and C. It spun around another pole inside of it. “Guys, stop playing with that,” I must have said at least 25 times.
Eventually, Nancy took Dave to get his promised toy and I stayed with Trin to guard the bags (and harangue her about playing with the pole). Dave got a firefighter set from the Husdon News store. They returned and it was my turn to take Trin. She got a white giraffe with hearts all over it, as well as a magnet and a purple pen for Nancy. Just before we left, she noticed a pink pencil adorned with a heart on top. She wanted it as well, but I vetoed her. When we got back to the gate, Dave was happily playing with his firefighter set, but Trin was still peeved about the lack of pink-pencil-with-heart-on-top. I tried to get her on to something else (like her $10 ugly-ass giraffe) but she wasn’t giving in. And so, like all good fathers, I caved…huffily, but still I caved. We made the long trek back to Hudson News, got pencil (now a magic wand) and hiked back.
When I got in sight of Nancy, I saw that she was holding Dave and was talking to another couple. We had been chatted up by several people already about the kids – were they adopted, were they from a previous marriage (my favorite), where were they from, would we like tips on straightening Trin’s hair (uh, no), etc. – and so I thought we were getting more of the same. Nancy caught my eye and motioned for me to pick up the pace a little. When I got there, I could see (and hear) that Dave was crying and Nancy was holding his hand tightly in order to stop the blood flow. The couple in question had brought ice and paper towels to help out.
Dave, it seems, decided that the pole was still more interesting than a firefighter set and started spinning it around again. Nancy heard him say “Ow!” and looked over to see him pull his finger away and grab it with his other hand. Thinking he’d merely pinched his finger, she walked over…
BLOOD…BLOOD…MORE BLOOD…SCREAMING…TEARS SPRAYING OUT OF DAVE’S EYES
By the time I got there, both the airline and the airport had sent representatives to take names and write reports. Paramedics were called. Five showed up…with a stretcher. Together, they determined that Dave needed stitches and that we would have to go to the emergency room in an ambulance, or an Urgent Care center in a cab. We chose the latter, though I think Dave would have preferred the former. In any case, Nancy and Dave got to ride in a wheelchair while I followed, carrying all the bags and Trinity to the taxi stand.
It turns out that cab drivers in Las Vegas know very little about the city itself. It wasn’t that our man didn’t know where this particular Urgent Care Center was; he didn’t seem to know what we were talking about. Street names, landmarks…nothing. But they are better dressed than any other cab drivers on the planet.
In any case, we did finally arrive at the clinic and checked in. Nancy started the paperwork while I watched the kids. Within a few minutes, a nurse came over and told us that the doctor thought that David should actually go to the pediatric hospital. They would triage him at the clinic, but then send him over to the hospital: no need to finish the paperwork. They called Dave in to triage within a few minutes and determined that they would, in fact, be able to treat him since, well, there was no skin left to actually suture and anything the hospital could do, they could do as well.
And so we sat…and sat…and sat…and watched all sorts of people come in after us and get treated before us. Trin was without nap and was morphing into all of the Flying Wallendas at once – running and hopping and flipping and flopping. We turned passive aggressive, talking about our plight in increasingly loud voices. Finally, I went to the window and asked why we were still sitting there in the waiting room. It turns out that since we hadn’t filled out the paperwork we were, thus, not even in line to be seen.
I stuffed the brains back into my head, asked for the clipboard with the forms on it, and filled out the paperwork. No, Dave does not smoke. No, Dave does not currently have a problem with alcohol or drugs. No, Dave does not have ulcers.
And, like magic, he got in to see the doctor. Mary Lou Retton and I stayed behind in the waiting room. She sprinted from one end to the other while I had a nice long chat with Rudy, the guy next to me who got poked in the finger by a piece of luggage and came to the clinic in a panic about staph infections and – yes, he said it – hepatitis. He made at least four phone calls to loved ones while we were there, just in case he didn’t make it, I assumed. Or maybe he knows something we don’t. Like whatever goes in your finger, stays in your finger.
Nancy and Dave returned after about 30 minutes, Dave looking no worse for wear, and Nancy looking a wee bit wan, having actually nearly fainted when they pulled the bandage off his finger and blood began pouring out again. She described it as the sudden sensational combination of ringing in her ears, cold sweats, and a desire to vomit. She decided to sit down, and recovered quickly, or so I am told. I was too busy spotting Nadia Comaneci on the uneven bars.
To be continued....
Thursday, December 18, 2008
A Time To Give
Hi everybody. It’s been a long time. How have you been? We’ve been swamped by kids and school. And I’ve suffered from a serious lack of initiative or inspiration (a little bit of both, I imagine) to keep up with my writing here.
But my friend Beth has both of those things in spades. And it’s rubbed off on me just a little during this holiday season. I’m hoping a little might rub off on you as well.
Here’s the deal…
As you can read HERE, Beth has an old friend from her days in New England – a fellow named Nick. Nick has fallen upon some hard times lately. I’m not talking about the “Gosh, I don’t know if we can afford to keep buying lattes” hard times. I’m talking the “I’m not sure if we’ll be able to pay these medical bills, keep our house, or remain even moderately healthy” kind of hard times.
If you haven’t already done so, read Nick’s story. Now.
So anyhow, the long and short of it is that Nick’s family is making progress toward their goal, but still need help. I wanted to extend the message to any and all who read this blog with any interest in the hopes that we might be able to help out in some way, no matter how small.
Here’s an address you can send donations should you not be inclined (as I am not inclined) to use PayPal or other online services that require credit cards:
Nick Masi Fund
Saco Biddeford Savings Bank Inst.
252 Main St.
Saco, ME 04072.
I hope this post finds you all well and happy and enjoying the holiday season. You'll be hearing more from me, Nancy and, of course, the incomparable David and Trinity when the new year starts. Until then...
But my friend Beth has both of those things in spades. And it’s rubbed off on me just a little during this holiday season. I’m hoping a little might rub off on you as well.
Here’s the deal…
As you can read HERE, Beth has an old friend from her days in New England – a fellow named Nick. Nick has fallen upon some hard times lately. I’m not talking about the “Gosh, I don’t know if we can afford to keep buying lattes” hard times. I’m talking the “I’m not sure if we’ll be able to pay these medical bills, keep our house, or remain even moderately healthy” kind of hard times.
If you haven’t already done so, read Nick’s story. Now.
So anyhow, the long and short of it is that Nick’s family is making progress toward their goal, but still need help. I wanted to extend the message to any and all who read this blog with any interest in the hopes that we might be able to help out in some way, no matter how small.
Here’s an address you can send donations should you not be inclined (as I am not inclined) to use PayPal or other online services that require credit cards:
Nick Masi Fund
Saco Biddeford Savings Bank Inst.
252 Main St.
Saco, ME 04072.
I hope this post finds you all well and happy and enjoying the holiday season. You'll be hearing more from me, Nancy and, of course, the incomparable David and Trinity when the new year starts. Until then...
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