We were going to take him to the hospital in the van, but the key was nowhere to be found, even after furious searching through purses and bags, drawers, counters, and other places. We decided to try to go in my Nissan 240SX, which had a flat tire, so we pumped up the tire and hoped it would start, since I hadn't driven or even started it it in quite a while. It did, and we went to Ft. Bragg's Womack Army Medical Center.
Once we arrived, I dropped the mother and injured party off at the front door and went parking space-hunting. It took me a bit, but I eventually found one. You would not believe how much easier it is to park with a small coupe than with a 12-passenger van. Once inside the hospital, I set about the task of locating my traveling companions, but this took longer than expected. My mom had told me as she went in that she would be at the family clinic and not the ER, since when another of my brothers had gone there previously, due to a knife wound in the hand, he was there for something like six hours. However, when I got to the family clinic (or whatever it was called), I found that the subject of my search was not a registered patient there. I think I got a suggestion that I should check the ER, but like I said earlier, I didn't think she'd be there.
I finally decided to ask one of the people by the front desk to see if there were any other places I should look and I was referred to the patient section (whatever it was called). After availing myself of the "please take a number" machine's service, I sat down with my mom's iPhone, waited and played a game called Chop Cop Ninja. Eventually I found that neither my mom nor the Gnome (our nickname for him) was checked into the hospital. So, some time later I found myself in the emergency room, where I found my mom. It turns out that you can't go to the family clinic unless you have an appointment. So we waited around for a few hours...
I was disgusted that once again I'd forgotten to bring my netbook (or even my Zune), so I had nothing to do except for sit. Actually, that's not quite true. I had my mom's iPhone for most of the time and played the Chop Chop Ninja game and Doodle Bomb and played the piano in the hospital. The hospital people were not too bad in one way, it seems - there was a sign that read, "PIANO PLAYERS WELCOME" on top of the piano. I'm not a good pianist by any means, but I am a piano player, so I tried part of a song or two I know or am working on, and just played around on it...most of that got repetitive and old, but I think some sounded OK. Anyway, an older man with an orange (was it a reflector?) vest who might have been a maintenance worker said something like, "Don't go" as I got up from the piano; apparently he liked it.
And that's basically the entire story. My mom adamantly declares that she will not be going to the hospital and wasting hours waiting there anymore. Instead of stitches, the doctor just used a surgical-grade version of superglue called Dermabond or something or Noble's head, so if we get some of it we should be able to work on cuts and things like that and not spend lots of time or money.