While Hospitalized -A husband’s cross-examination of what every woman should know in an emergency.

I was in the dentist’s chair—laid back, bib on, waiting for the Novocaine to kick in. Just making casual conversation with my dentist, as one does while mentally preparing to have half your face numbed. We were chatting—probably about sports, teeth, or the universal pain of flossing guilt—when things took a sharp left turn.
Out of nowhere, I had a medical emergency. A real one. The kind that makes your dentist stop mid-sentence, call 911, and suddenly you’re no longer discussing plaque, but being loaded into an ambulance like a scene from a movie. A movie where you are the unexpected star.
Now, here’s where the story gets better. Who called my wife to tell her, her husband was being rushed to the ER?
My dentist. That’s right. Not a ER doctor. Not a nurse. Not a first responder.
My dentist made the emergency call. Heroic and weirdly poetic, right? But he is a great guy and outstanding dentist.
So my wife, Nada Foley, arrives at the hospital in full concerned-wife mode. Fast forward a to the next day in hospital—I’m stabilized, alive, and slowly regaining a sense of reality. She slept in a chair.  That’s when I ask the million-dollar question:
“Why didn’t you bring me a change of underwear? And a toothbrush? And toothpaste?”
A completely fair inquiry, I thought. I mean, these are the basics. The go-to survival kit. Essentials. Any seasoned spouse would instinctively pack these, right?
Cue the courtroom music.
What followed was what I now call The Cross-Examination of Nada Foley.
I channeled my inner Vinny Gambini (Joe Pesci style), leaning into the role of an overconfident attorney with one simple demand: an explanation. And Nada? She transformed effortlessly into Mona Lisa Vito—equal parts sass, logic, and don't-even-try-me energy. Her timing was impeccable, her tone unimpressed, and her expression? Pure Marisa Tomei.
Her response, under my firm yet loving questioning?
“You were unconscious in a hospital bed. Underwear and toothpaste weren’t exactly top of mind.”
Boom. No hesitation. No apology. Just straight facts, delivered with a Brooklyn-accented eye-roll that somehow echoed across state lines.
So... who won the argument?
Let’s just say: I might be the one who made it to the hospital, but she walked out completely unscathed—no notes, no objections, no sustained complaints. The jury (made up of nurses, I’m sure) ruled in her favor.
And me? I got a hospital-issued toothbrush, a reminder of who’s really in charge... and no underwear.