Cat scans, and needles, and drugs, oh my
by Kathy McKinney
Well, this is different. I don’t normally have to write in hospital waiting rooms. I usually wait for some sort of inspiration to strike over the weekend to write this editorial…but by late on Sunday afternoon, in the words of Jack O’Neil on Stargate, “I got nothin’.” My daughter Casey was here for the weekend, and she showed up at the house, complaining that her back was hurting. Turns out that she (and the Advocate’s Brandi, along with several other accomplices who I won’t name here in case I need to blackmail them later) had been out Saturday night at a Fanning Springs bar, and my daughter, the one who is “graceful like a baby deer,” (i.e. she’s as clumsy as an intoxicated hippopotamus), was standing on the sidewalk and a Jeep, driven by a jerk who was apparently “playing” by gunning the gas pedal, jumped the curb and hit her.
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