A hospital emergency room isn’t an emergency unless you’re stuck in a gurney, bleeding from a gunshot wound or knife stick, or in cardiac arrest.
I spent seven hours in the ER last Wednesday night through Thursday morning. I won’t go into details, but I wasn’t there and everything worked out fine in the end. It was 3am when I stepped out of the sliding door on a dark, rainy morning.
Around 1993, I sat in the hard chair of the ER for so long that it felt like I was in an airport terminal. I was waiting to board a long delayed flight with other passengers. .
Sitting across from me was a man, probably in his late 60s, taking his temperature every 10 minutes using a digital forehead thermometer he had brought from home. He had packed it in a plastic grocery bag along with his finger pulse oximeter. I overheard him telling someone that he came to the ER because his temperature was 91 degrees Fahrenheit when he brought it home.
It seemed unlikely, but who am I to judge this man or question the accuracy of a thermometer?
Nearby, a young couple was arguing about something I didn’t understand. Each other’s patience wore off with each sip of water from the shared water bottle.
“I was brought here by ambulance five hours ago because I was having trouble breathing. How long do I have to wait to see a doctor?!” I kept typing. When she was younger she might have been a pole vaulter, but now the old man, the complete opposite of athletics, wore navy athletic wear. He has white socks on his feet, but no shoes. I didn’t hear what his receptionist said to him, but I could hear his socks humming on his carpet as he turned his back and returned to his seat.
Here a woman sleeps like a ragdoll thrown in a chair, with a coat over her head. Over there, a mother, father, and grown son sit together, but they’re alone, each spending time clicking and swiping on their phones.
Thermometer man takes temperature again.
It’s 3am and I’m the only one left in the ER. However, the receptionists and security guards, like birds in a cuckoo clock, leave the tiny office every hour and slam the vending machines on the floor. hole. All the others were either discharged from the hospital after being examined by a doctor, or got tired of waiting and left.
I took off my shoes and limped to the receptionist and was tempted to yell at her. Is this flight scheduled to take off? I’ve been here for hours, tired, hungry and just want to go home! ”
I imagine her typing typing typing and yelling back at me, “Hay is for horses!”
and silence.
And laugh, we both break
Laughing off all nonsense, lack of urgency
Because there are no emergencies here, no bullet holes in the chest, no stab wounds in the back, no gurneys rushing in, only the heart beats, beats, beats.
we ourselves die.
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A memorable first week of 2023, indeed. Before you go to sleep, here’s the supply his chain and logistics news that caught your eye this week.
I only got four hours of sleep on Thursday, and I’m still feeling a bit dizzy today, so I think it’s best to stop while I’m ahead and save my comments for another day.
Have a nice weekend!
Song of the Week: ‘I Feel Loved’ by Depeche Mode
