Where's George Clooney When I Need Him?

I let the finale of E.R. tiptoe by this blog without referencing my former obsession with the show (how did that happen, Angela?!). But for YEARS, Thursday nights were consumed with following the sexual tension between Dr. Ross and Nurse Hathaway, and wiping away my drool when Noah Wyle was on screen.

Over the years, I have discovered that- much to my chagrin- real E.R.s aren't like television. But you probably already knew that.


I wasn't expecting to spend Wednesday morning in the E.R., but being that I'm pregnant, the Urgent Care clinic erred on the side of caution. For a horrible intestinal issue I've had over a week, they took all the routine vitals and I got a couple "bonus" exams to go with it (ughhhhhh). They also decided I needed a little help in the hydration area, so they set me up with an IV drip (this is pretty common, apparently). Everything came back normal, so I got the ol' "come back if it gets worse, and don't let the door hit'cha on the way out" spiel. But not before the doc wrecked my dreams of eating Chipotle anytime soon.

I swear I'm not leaving CA before I get some.