My Emergency Contact Information

I have been through and survived a few medical emergencies. It has caused me to rethink my “in case of emergency” information. You know how phones have that little “In Case of Emergency” section? Mine is less “medical information” and more “hostage negotiation with aging.”

If the unthinkable happens and someone has to unlock my phone, I need them to know a few things before they wheel me into surgery looking like a half-melted candle.

My notes currently read:

IMPORTANT:

So, please wipe away any drool before contacting family. We’ve all worked too hard for dignity to lose it over saliva.

If I don’t pull through and you must take a picture, please angle the phone camera slightly upward. I do not wish to meet my ancestors looking like a startled bulldog.

Hair color formula is Nice-N-Easy Light Brown 6. Likewise, root touch-up schedule is every five weeks or whenever I begin resembling an exhausted badger.

Please pencil in brows before hospital photos. Not Instagram brows. Not brows that make me look permanently surprised. Just enough so I don’t look spiritually unfinished.

If clothing must be cut off, PLEASE do not cut my good bra if there is literally any other option. It was expensive. Someone should inherit it intact.

If I say, “I’m fine,” I am absolutely not fine. Please investigate further.

Do not let anyone put me on a prayer chain or make a Facebook post requesting prayers without using a flattering photo from at least 2018.

If unconscious, family may tell doctors I’m “easygoing.” This is false information.

Lipstick in purse is absolutely emotional support lipstick. Apply generously, but try to stay on the lips.

Before calling my children, remove any snack crumbs from my shirt. They deserve peace.

Under no circumstances should my glasses be thrown away. I can’t see distances without them, and replacements now cost approximately one mortgage payment.

If I survive, nobody is allowed to say, “She gave us quite a scare!” I hate that sentence.

The older I get, the less my emergency information is about blood type and the more it’s about preserving what little vanity I have left.

Twenty years ago, emergency information was practical:

• Allergies
• Blood type
• Call my kids

Now it’s:

• Moisturize me
• Pull my chin hairs
• Delete my browser history
• Water my plants
• Feed the cat

Aging is weird. At this point, first responders are going to open my medical contact information and wonder whether they should call a doctor or a beauty consultant.

And somewhere, deep in my soul, I hope one exhausted EMT reads, “Please do not leave me looking crunchy,” and whispers, “Ma’am, I got you.”

Donetta’s Takeaway:

At this age, surviving the emergency is only part of the goal. The other part is surviving the photographs.

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