I am in the neuro-ophthalmologist's office, waiting to be squeezed in between 80-year-olds with cataracts. People almost never have neuro-opthalmological emergencies without pointy objects or head trauma. However, I have managed! I am SPECIAL.
I am having contractions every ten minutes... nine. Eight and a half. Dr. S asks if he should tell the receptionist that I am in labor. "I don't KNOW!" I say, and bend over the chair. I am, like most women in labor, neither fully rational nor fully there. He looks at my mother, who says YES! Now! Nownownow!, then goes and talks to the receptionist.
Thirty seconds later, the doctor and all five nurses pour out of the exam rooms, looking extremely worried. They offer me food, water, a washcloth, a chair, and some tylenol. They bite their nails. Thirty minutes later, we walk back out the door, reassured that I am not, at least for now, going blind.