Every family simchah throws my careful plans into a wild tailspin
The ping of my phone cuts through the chaos in the hallway, where a child with a suspected fracture is wailing loudly. I have a few precious moments to myself, and I’m trying to sneak a few pretzels (whole wheat, of course) and not overthink my last case. The teenager hadn’t seemed acutely distressed — had I made the right call in pushing for an MRI?
My flip phone chirps again, and I finally check the texts. My coworkers are always fascinated by this vestige of a bygone era, but calling and texting are all I need. The last thing I want is more blinking screens — between reading vital signs on monitors, EKGs to detect heart rhythms, and venous ultrasounds, I prefer to leave the high-tech devices to the hospital.
It’s a text from my mother: Gershon’s going out on his sixth date tomorrow! Keep davening ?
That’s amazing! ? ? I text back, but all the smiley emojis in the world can’t mask the truth.
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