I hate it when life gives me the answers to questions I haven't even asked yet. Questions like: "What would be the absolute worst way to spend a Saturday afternoon?" and "What would be the second-worst way to spend a Saturday afternoon?"

The second-worst way to spend a Saturday afternoon, in case you are curious, is in the waiting area of the pediatric emergency room, cut off from all communications with your best friends because of the hospital's block on cell phone calls into or out of the ER, waiting in ever-increasing anxiety to find out what's wrong with your 11-month-old godson that would send him and his parents careening into the hospital in the first place.

The very worst way to spend Saturday afternoon, of course, is to be the parents of the child in question.

Ginger and Jason were having a completely ordinary Saturday, up until the moment that their pediatrician's office called. I wasn't there when they got the call, but here's what the nurse told them:

"GET THAT BOY TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM NOW, OR HE'S GONNA HAVE A SEIZURE AND DIIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!"

(Okay, okay, I'm paraphrasing...but not by much.)

So they did what any parents would do. They handed the Girl Child to a babysitter, tossed the Boy Child into the car, and sped off to the hospital. At some point, they called to cancel our lunch date, and give us the bare-bones basics of what had happened, of course. But then... they vanished. And we had no idea what to do, and a sick feeling that there was nothing we could do.

So of course, we went down to the hospital anyway, knowing that we would be completely useless at best and completely in the way at worst. And when we got there, we couldn't find out anything from anyone. We settled for camping out in the waiting room, assuming that Jason or Ginger would wander out that way at some point.

Did you know that the waiting area of the emergency room is crammed to overflowing with sick people? Of course you did -- but I didn't. (I don't get out much. And I don't watch E.R.) And did you know that the waiting area of the pediatric emergency room is crammed to overflowing with sick children? And those children are sweet, wonderful, darling creatures who aren't old enough to know to cover their mouths when they cough, or to sneeze into a tissue instead of onto the person sitting in the next chair?

We fidgeted. We paced. We went to the cafeteria when the stress of being useless got too bad to tolerate without caffeine. And there, we ran into Jason. At last, we could get answers!

Apparently the pediatrician's office got blood test results for the Boy Child that afternoon, and the results had some anomaly that was so alarming that it warranted that phone call. The admitting physician, though, took one look at the seemingly healthy Boy Child, and grew skeptical. She ordered a repeat of the blood test.

Well, at least it was a scrap of knowledge. Jason headed off again, promising to call us the instant he knew anything.

We went on waiting. The afternoon trudged by. The cafeteria was boring, but at least the ratio of sick people to non-sick people seemed to tilt back in our favor, so we stayed there.

And at last, Jason called. The blood test results were back. And the admitting physician was now 99% sure she could tell what was wrong with the Boy Child.

Wait for it...

Nothing. Absolutely nothing was wrong with the baby. The alarming anomaly in his blood test at the pediatrician's office? That was just the result of bad lab work. There was nothing at all wrong. He wasn't about to have a seizure, and he wasn't in imminent danger of death. So after all of that worry, his parents got a sort of medical mea culpa, a physician-approved "Oops! Nothing to see here, go about your business!"

We were astounded at the good luck -- nothing is wrong with the baby! Hooray! Have a party! -- and infuriated at the way we'd collectively been put through the wringer over nothing. How can you go back to your normal routine after a scare like that?

Apparently you do it by napping. Ginger and Jason went home and put the entire family down for a nap. Bobby and I indulged in a little retail therapy, and then went home and took a nap. And when we all met up for dinner, it was like the whole incident was some bad dream.

Now I have the answers to questions I'd never even thought to ask. Is it too much to wonder when life is going to get around to answering the questions I have asked? Questions like: why are we here? Is there anyone else out there in the universe? What does it mean to be human? How do I always end up in the slowest line at the grocery store? Why, exactly, does Britney Spears have a musical career, and who in the world ever thought that Melanie Griffith could act?

Y'know, important questions like that.