when walking into an emergency room entrance at a hospital, is it not fairly obvious that you are there to see a doctor ?
well, this morning when i walked into an emergency room, that was the first question i was asked by the lady at registration. “do you need to see a doctor ?” no, no i do not. i’m here for the company. i’m here for the vending machines. i mean, really ? it was completely hilarious. i had to laugh, openly, when she asked me that. this may have, somewhat, made me look like a bit of an ’emergency room amateur,’ but i accept that – even though i am far from that. i’m a professional klutz, i’ve been in more emergency rooms than i am even willing to admit. my friends can vouch for this.
i walked in there this morning after cutting my foot open on a piece of glass. i was barefoot at the time i encountered said glass and by the time said glass was finished with me, you could see the bone in my foot. this may strike the average person as a huge warning flag. an ‘oh my god‘ moment. but my reaction was more of, ‘really ? bone ? that’s amazing ! i’ve never seen my own bone before.. ‘ the company i was in informed me that it would probably be best if i went to a hospital for stitches.
i’ve never had stitches before (so, therefore, i feel kind of like a warrior right now). i wasn’t, and still am, not exactly sure what kind of a cut or gash qualifies for stitches. sure, seeing my own bone was a bit, uh, disconcerting, but it’s the side of my foot. there’s not a whole lot of skin between the outside of my foot and the bone inside of my foot. regardless, i went, as instructed, to the E.R. i was asked the ridiculous question mentioned above and sat a mere fifteen or twenty minutes in the waiting room before i was shown to a bed in the E.R. while in the waiting room, in an effort to decrease the bleeding, i raised my leg in the air in a somewhat ‘i’m in a recliner watching my favorite tv show’ position. while doing this, a rather deranged man with a cane walked through the waiting room, stared at me, and said, “what is this ? a f*cking living room ?” it was at this point, i thought, ‘ok, so maybe that lady at registration rightfully asked me if i was there to see a doctor.” and then, said deranged man walked into the E.R. with his own certified hospital badge. as in, he’s an employee here. at this point, i thought, ‘i think i came to the wrong hospital.’
look, i’d come this far and felt it necessary to fight my natural instinct to flee. i figured, in the very least, this could be a highly amusing experience. so, i obediently waited my turn in the waiting room despite the fact that i felt i should lower my leg (so that i would not be further accused of treating the waiting room as some television lounge even though there was no television) and despite the fact that the man seated next to me was clearly a drunk who continued to spill his hospital paper work on the ground (and yes, being the good samaritan that i am, each time it fell, i gently reminded him that his papers were scattered on the floor).
as soon as i hit my bed in the E.R., i waited another twenty minutes or so, was cleaned up (yes, i still had glass in my wound), and stitched up (and i had to receive two doses of local anesthetic because the first round was not nearly enough and stitches without anesthetic really f*cking hurts – believe you me).
so, now i’m limping and gimping around. i arrived at work at 10:3o this morning and spent the day doing work around the store with any spare moments raising my foot in the air to decrease any swelling or pain. it’s really not that bad. i’ve broken several bones and this feels like a cake walk compared to my previous injuries.
but this is just one more reason i love public spaces. hospitals. public transport. airports. what have you. the stories cannot be rivaled. truth is, most certainly, better than fiction.