After spending seven hours in the ER, what I want when I get home is food. And monsters. I grab a bite and turn on the TV. I’m leaned back among my pillows, exhausted. Have I done anything but lay around and wait all day today? Not really. But I’m still exhausted.

I have a vague memory of banging the back of my left hand against a door jam. I’m a klutz. I do things like that all the time. A lump appears, but it doesn’t hurt. I figure I’ll ask my doctor about it when I have my physical in a few weeks’ time if it’s still there.

Then it’s spooky season, and I’m in full monster mode. My home is decorated with ghosts and bats, and I watch old scary movies that I’ve seen a million times since I was a kid. I’m a cowardly horror fan. I don’t like gore, and I don’t want to be traumatized. That’s why I like the old movies. They’re more fun than frightening.

I wake up one morning after rolling over in a dead sleep onto my left hand. The lump is not amused. The hand swells a little but is only slightly sore, so I ice it and go to work. It seems to be fine, but then I wake up on a Saturday, and it’s looking red and more swollen. I call my doctor’s office first thing and am told to go to the ER for an X-ray.

It’s early, so I get right in to see someone. I’m told I may have broken a bone. How can this be? I’m a world-class wimp. I can’t even watch a bloody movie. How can I have walked around with a broken hand?

Once the X-ray is taken and viewed by a doctor, I’m told I may have broken four bones. We need to wait to have a specialist look at the films, though. They say this will take some time. Good thing I thought to bring a book.

So, I wait. I read my book. I wait some more. The doctor comes back in and says that the X-ray is inconclusive. What’s inconclusive about broken bones? Aren’t they either broken or not broken?

I’m sent down the hall for a CT scan. And then there’s more waiting.

They kick me out of my room. This is okay. They need the room for someone who isn’t just hanging out like a vampire bat in front of a window. I’m now in a bed in the hall where there’s more action. More to watch. I’m tired of my book.

The specialist isn’t responding about the CT scan. More hours slide by.

Finally, there’s an answer. No broken bones. It’s a calcification that has formed on a bone. I’m told to ice it and take Advil, which is what I had been doing.

No one seems to know exactly how the calcification formed. It could have been the result of a soft-tissue trauma. Or it could have been there all along, waiting to rise up like Dracula from his coffin to wreak havoc.

They finally send me home with an ace bandage and a thanks for my patience. I’m grateful that the scariest part about this day was the long wait time to be released. I’m also relieved to be home. So, armed with food and an ice pack, I’m ready to select a monster movie.

I recently watched Dracula and wonder if I should watch another classic. The Wolfman? Frankenstein? The Mummy, maybe? I decide against those. Instead, I pull up a horror movie of a more recent, yet still rather antique, vintage.

Donald Sutherland is running through the streets of San Francisco. I look down at my hand. The calcification suddenly looks familiar. It protrudes from just under my skin. It’s oval. Like a pod.

Maybe Invasion of the Body Snatchers isn’t a good choice after all.

Juliana Gribbins is a writer who believes that absurdity is the spice of life. Her book Date Expectations is winner of the 2017 Independent Press Awards, Humor Category, and winner of the 2016 IPPY silver medal for humor. Write to her at jeepgribbs@hotmail.com. Read more of her columns at www.zip06.com/shorelineliving.