I was really embarrassed on the ambulance ride to Mount Sinai Medical Center. I’d tried to explain that I was actually okay to the two Port Authority officers and the police officer that had been standing over me but they would hear nothing of it.
“You might have a concussion,” the police officer had said, pointing to the lump forming at the back of my head. And come to think of it, it was kind of painful. But I still wasn’t sure that the whole ambulance treatment, complete with flashing lights and roaring siren, was completely necessary.
Mount Sinai on Friday night is every bit the mess you would imagine it to be. I felt like I was stepping into a taping of “ER.” A red-haired woman with a sharp Brooklyn accent took my insurance information and immediately I started worrying what my mom would think when they contacted her and told her that I’d been brought in for treatment after a good old fashioned New York mugging.
Oh God. How cliché. A mugging? In New York? In a subway tunnel? I was bored to tears just thinking about it. More than anything I just wanted to get out of the hospital and enjoy the rest of my vacation. I also wanted my iPod, watch, and sixty bucks in cash back, but the officer who had insisted I go to the hospital had informed me that there was almost no chance of getting my stuff back.
I sighed. As I laid on a examination table with a heavy metal bib on my chest while they took x-rays of my skull I thought, ‘Well, welcome to New York.’
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