In Which Our Heroine Puts Her Heroine Powers to the Test
Oh the humanity! And the blood. Team Milhouse has had a wee setback. Liz has broken her nose. She was doing an abdominal circuit, and if you want to know how you can break your nose doing that, you'll have to e-mail me and ask me. Not that I can provide great answers, as frankly I watched it happen and I still don't know exactly how this occured. One second there was the toning of the abdominal muscles. The next second there was blood, gore and screaming. Granted, not that much screaming. Certainly not as much screaming as if *I* had broken *my* nose. But then I am a noted wimp, and Liz is quite obviously a tough girl. Which is good, as she also got a fat lip too. She will recover fully, or so we're told. They'll reset her nose tomorrow (she will need painkillers for that, and frankly I am already needing valium at the sheer thought of it.) and she can row again as "soon as she can breathe through her nose" the doctor says. We are supposed to race on Saturday. If we actually do that, well, I'll be even more impressed with Liz than I already am.

Frankly, when it all happened, I was a bit of a mess. Liz keeps thanking me for all my help, but all I did was drive her to the hospital and make a couple of phone calls. Oh, and ask a lot of questions. But that is the sort of thing I do anyway. It really is not fun though (flashbacks to the hypothermia incident) to have to make phone calls to people's parents and say "Errrr, hello. We're in the Emergency Room. No, calm down, everyone's going to be fine. But we're worried that she's broken her nose." And of course, the whole thing would have gone a bit better and actually asked Liz's dad's secretary if I could speak to Liz's dad, rather than Liz's brother.

The truly best bit actually occurred coming home. Having dropped Liz off into the care of her rather shocked roommate, I grabbed a couple of bags of books and nabbed the bus home. Changing buses in Harvard Square, I had one of those mildly disassociative states where you suddenly perceive yourself as others see you. There I was, one in the afternoon, sweaty, in spandex and a rain jacket, the ever present rowing sandals and socks combo, spattered with blood (I found some on my face later, just to add to the sight), looking like quite the recently released serial killer. But a highly literate serial killer, given the two big bags of books. Just as I realized that the men in white coats were about to swoop from somewhere to take me somewhere padded on all four walls, the woman next to me suddenly turns and asks me "Do you row?" What gave it away? That copy of "Moral Man and Immoral Society" at the top of my book bag?

Team Milhouse Emergency Room Visits So Far This Season:
Anne: 4 (once accompanying Liz)
Liz: 2 (once accompanying Anne)