9/11, the family collaborative edition

I tell Natalie I’m not calling 911 until she sends the thank-you note for yesterday’s job interview. I tell her, “I’d rather die from a heart attack knowing you sent that email.” She tells me I sound like the people who stayed at their desks on 9/11, and she dials 911 herself. The EMT asks if I have medical conditions. The list is too long, so I say no. Natalie says, “She has autism.” They ask me how bad the pain is. I have no idea what to say. Relative to childbirth? A one. Relative to how embarrassed I am for calling 911 for a heart attack? A three. I think my embarrassment is a four. We are two blocks from a world-renowned hospital because it’s Boston. I have thought about many scenarios where there’s a terrorist attack and I’m okay because there are so many doctors in Boston that the whole city is a triage unit. I tell the EMT I can walk to the hospital. “Mom, no. You are not walking to the hospital. There are people here to help you.” I shield my face while they wheel me out on a…