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When I read the story about the woman who took a butcher knife to a business meeting in her folder, I was reminded of the night I took my sword to the emergency room. Earlier in the evening I had been at the computer graphics lab at the local college working on an animation project for a class I was taking. Class time was nearing; but, I had to get one thing from my car. I strode out of the lab and walked briskly to Ralph Car. It was dark--I didn’t see the cracked, raised portion of the sidewalk. I don’t remember the journey down; but, I do remember being there and thinking I’d better get up or I’d be late for class.

As class progressed my foot got fatter and there was a throbbing thing going on. I slid one shoe off and toughed it out until break. That’s when I approached Mr. Chu, told him about the circumstance, and explained I didn’t want to be rude; but, I was about to abandon the second part of the class. I drove home and stretched out on my bed with a bag of ice. The operatic throbbing from the foot continued. Sleep was not an option. A bit before eleven I called a friend who was usually up until that time. She said she’d come right away and deliver me to the emergency room. I knew that going down my meandering, flat stone pathway to the car was going to be an issue. What could I do? I decided to take the cane my friend Marcus had given me. He got it in a vintage shop when he was in college and used it as part of a Halloween costume. The cane and I slip through the front door when my friend arrives, being careful not to let the two fretting Eskies escape. They did not think it was an appropriate time for me to leave home.

In the emergency room I’m gifted with a wheel chair. After about 45 minutes I meet with the triage team. They give me an ice bag, a miniscule cup of water, and two pills which are to alleviate my pain--NOT! After an hour or so, I get to meet Mr. X-ray Man. He’s pleasant and does his stuff. I’m happy to have progressed to this level; but, I have worries about my can. He seems amiable; so, I explain to him that the top of my cane can be twisted off and there is a sword which can be pulled out. Granted, it is not sharpened; but, I don’t want anyone to freak out about my having a concealed weapon in a public place. He looks at me, tells me I don’t have to draw it out, laughs, and says he would like to x-ray it--no extra charge. He does.

My body moves to a gurney and I’m parked in the hallway about twelve feet down from the emergency surgery room. At the end of the hallway are large sliding glass doors which open periodically when serious cases come in with ambulance drivers and the occasional police officer and--of course--cold whooshes of air. My sword is propped inconspicuously against the wall. Eventually I see dawn through the sliding glass doors. It has been a long time since I’ve been near any plumbing facilities. I get the attention of an aide who not so quickly summons another aide with a wheelchair. I make know that it is imperative I reach the bathroom NOW! He’s a strapping guy who informs me he’s going to lift me into the wheelchair. I inform him that I weigh 130 pounds and am not often lifted. He tells me he can bench press more than that. He settles me and drives fast to the bathroom. He opens the door for me, wheels me in, and says: Do you want me too--I interrupt with a definite no. Just wait outside.

Within the next hour I meet with a doctor, get fitted for a brace and crutches, and my friend arrives to take my sword and me home. The dogs are pleased to see me. The older one was stressed that I was gone so long. There is a mess near the back door. I don’t complain. I take a real pain pill, prop the sword next to my bedroom wall, and go to sleep. I slept peacefully, unaware that a concealed weapon charge would probably have been preferable to the shock of the size of the hospital bill that I would soon receive.