So yeah, the transit strike. I can't believe they actually did it. Meet the Fockers! Don't they know it's cold outside? And that I live 11 miles from the hospital? AND WHAT OF THE EARLOBE-SHATTERING COLDNESS?
Side-taking and name-calling aside, I think we're all in agreement that this transit strike has brought this city right to its knees. It has also activated our Worst Case Scenario Contingency Plan. Georgia, you see, cannot get into the city. She lives all the way the hell out there in Brooklyn, near Coney Island or some such place. Maybe she lives under the Cyclone, like Woody Allen in "Annie Hall". Well, wherever she lives, the fact of the matter is that we have no childcare. So unless I could somehow bring Cal to work with me (wrap him in sterile gauze, maybe, or put a little mask and cap on him and prop him up against some foam padding in the corner) we had to come up with a good alternative solution, and quickly.
I don't know if it was a good solution, but all I could do yesterday was all in to work and say that I couldn't make it in. I know we didn't have much choice, but I have never in all my years of residency missed a day of work for illness or otherwise, and oh my land, yesterday the guilt was EATING ME ALIVE. With tartar sauce. This morning, we tried to work out some shenanigans with getting a car service to pick Georgia up in Way The Hell Out There in Brooklyn, and got assurances from the dispatcher that yes, they would pick her up, yes, no problem, they promised, yes yes yes. Then at 4:30am we got a call that oops, they didn't have enough cars to dispatch after all, so forget all that stuff we talked about yesterday. Fockers!
Luckily, we had a Plan B in place, having packed a bag with some bottles and the trusty Pack 'n' Play the night before. All I can say is: thank god for grandparents. By 5:15am, Cal was bundled up, in the car, and speeding uptown to the Upper East Side. By 5:45 he was happily drooling on a brand new set of absorbant surfaces. I called it our Adventure Morning, but really, I'm not sure how many more "adventures" like that I can stomach, pushing a stroller and carrying fifteen tons of baby gear across Madison Avenue at dark o'clock in the morning.
So now Cal's with my parents, Joe and I made it to work before dawn, and I'm waiting for my first patient to show up. And I'm on call tonight. How the hell am I going to get home tomorrow morning?
Dear MTA, please start up the subways again. Pretty please. I'll give you five dollars.