I AIN'T GOT NOBODY - I GOT ABOUT 85

Think about where you would LEAST like to spend seven hours on a Friday evening.

You are CORRECT, sir - waiting in the emergency room at the local hospital.

My horse, whom I still adore even after this little incident, has been incredibly obedient, calm and attentive all this past week with training. He has lunged, stopped, backed, picked up his feet, and even allowed me to completely brush all the tangles from his tail (which, when untangled, are equivalent to the entire square mileage of French Guiana).

So when he tried to follow the mare out of the pasture into the corral when I was feeding them at 4 p.m. yesterday, I calmly yet forcibly stepped in front of him to halt him, certain that he would again respond to my verbal command.

And was properly knocked flat on my back as my horse went ahead and plowed right through me.

Wait, let me clarify that a bit.

He knocked me flat on my SHOULDERS, which was then followed by my head, and then my butt hit the ground and last of all my feet.

I laid there in the dust for a few seconds, feeling very sorry for myself, but since there was no one else there to sympathize with me - even my dog had fled the scene - I got up, chased my horse back to where he belonged, and went into the house. Slowly.

And on arriving in the house, discovered I had had... well, an accident.

Well, of course, I had HAD an accident - with my stupid &@%$(@# horse knocking me off my feet.

I mean, another kind of accident. One that you are supposed to have conquered when you stop using diapers. When you begin school. Or before you have reached the age where a sneeze can cause that kind of accident.

And that sort of accident that shouldn't involve blood in any way - at least not when a uterus is no longer a part of your physiology.

So regardless of which information source I consulted (WebMD, Google, my doctor's office, my oldest daughter), the guidance was the same - go to the emergency room.

Immediately.

Do you know how many people seem to have nothing better to do on a Friday evening than go to the E.R. for a MINOR symptom, such as sniffles, a slight fever, or kidney stones (well, I guess that last one isn't minor, but he was being SUCH a big baby about it)?

But the crowning jewel is that 85% of these people spend the majority of the emergency room COMPLAINING about how...

1) The staff in the emergency are doing things that are NOT related DIRECTLY to seeing to that particular complaining patient (such as eating dinner, talking to each other, going to the restroom, etc.)

2) The man who came in TWO HOURS after that particular complaining patient was seen BEFORE them - who cares that he was bleeding from gunshot blast, clutching his chest, and/or in the last stages of labor (okay, maybe not that one).

3) There are not sufficient personnel in the E.R. to take note of their complaints, comfort and/or constipation (er, sorry, not that last one) exactly when this particular complaining patient needs to vent.

So I bent over backwards to tell each and every E.R. personnel (Michelle, Lisa, Heather, Eva, Stephen and Eddie) how incredible great and efficient they were and how much I appreciated all their efforts.

And got out of there just under seven hours. Even with having a CAT scan.

You guys at the E.R. rock.