O.Henr y Ending

The Fish Bone

Or, one of the most embarrassing nights ever

By Cy nthi a a dams As a coastal weekend drew to an end, we stopped at Sandy’s, a fishmonger in Southport. With cruelly blue skies that made us reluctant to head westward, we decided that fish, fresh from that day’s catch, would extend our getaway.

Eating outside as dusk fell, the tender, flak y fish pushed thoughts of Monday morning into the great beyond.

Suddenly, I felt a bone graze my throat.

I reached for my wine glass. T he sensation — scratchy — was still there. T hen I reached for bread to push the bone down.

It was uncomfor table. But not unbearably so.

My husband suggested we go get my throat looked at, but I was unwilling. T here were things to do for the work week ahead. I busied myself, coughing, gargling and clearing my throat whenever he lef t the room. T he clock ticked.

I put on my pj’s and climbed into bed. As soon as I was prone, I knew. T his was not merely a scratch. W hen I got up to dress for the emergency room, my husband was unamused.

“W hy c ou ldn’t we have gone at 6:30 a nd not 10 at n ig ht ?” he g rouse d.

I was sheepish when check ing into the ER at Moses Cone for the first time in my life. A fish bone lodged in my throat felt like an inadequate emergency.

At this point, my husband stubbornly believed there was no way a bone was in there. I glared at him as he instr ucted the staf f to put dire emergencies ahead of us, and then we sat silently for what felt like hours on end as the waiting room grew steadily f uller.

W hen I suggested we leave and tr y our luck at Wesley L ong instead, my husband grew more irritated but eventually agreed. Once there, we found an even busier ER .

W hen my name was finally called, they beckoned me to a curtained of f bay. I noted my name scrawled on a white board: “Adams. FB.” Wincing at that, I cleared my throat to test if perhaps the bone had moved. It was too late to bolt and go home.

Eavesdropping on the patients adjacent to me, I soon realized one of my neighbors was having hear t attack symptoms. T he other had attempted suicide. These people, my husband ’s expression said, have real emergencies. W hen the young physician pulled back the cur tain, I immediately apolog ized for being there. He pointed out that “95 percent” of people who think they have a fish bone lodged in their throat act ua lly only have a scratch f rom swa llow ing it.

I felt about as ridiculous as I had ever felt in my adult life.

T hen he examined my throat. “Hmmm,” he said. “I’ll be darned.”

My hear t leapt hopef ully. “T here is a bone?” I asked, relieved for the first time in four hours.

“Sure is.” He lef t to get forceps. My husband looked stunned.

T he doctor returned wearing a miner’s light and carr ying what looked like long, sk inny barbecue tongs.

“W hat if you can’t reach it?” my husband asked unhelpf ully.

“We will have to prep her for surger y,” he replied.

“Surger y?” I squeaked, sobering.

He explained that the bone had to be extracted or else my throat could become infected and sepsis could set in. Any pleasure I had f rom being in the right disappeared.

But the doctor managed to extract it, and the relief was immediate, much like having a splinter release.

“T hank you!” I shouted, as he showed us the bone.

“It’s good sized,” he mar veled. “Want to keep it?”

I shook my head.

Any questions, he asked.

I had one. “W hy did you have to write Fish Bone?” I asked, pointing to the scrawled letters on the white board. “T hat was so embarrassing.”

T he doctor was conf used but turned to look.

“F-B?” He asked with a grin.

“Foreign Body.”

My husband began laughing and I feebly joined in. Back home, mere hours before our alarm would blare, I stretched out and felt — nothing.

“Do. Not. Tel l. A nyone.” I mut tere d. But t he b e d sho ok a s he lay t here.

And, I will admit it, I laughed, too — in spite of my fool self. OH

Contributing editor Cynthia Adams claims the fish was so delicious that her FB experience was almost worth it. Her husband still has a bone to pick over the experience.