Sunday, May 25, 2014

OWWWWW!

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Like I promised you, there is always more to my troubles!

After surveying the waiting room on a Sunday afternoon on Mother’s Day, and all the inconsiderate people who had the gall to be ahead of me at the Walk-in emergency clinic, I go to the front desk, my hand in a sandwich bag and my finger wrapped in a blood soaked paper towel, the receptionist almost passes out and directs me to the toilet to try to wash my hand. Shaken up she leads me and I follow thinking I will get immediate attention ahead of all these losers waiting ahead of me.

Upon entering back into the waiting room, she hands me a clipboard topped off with 50 million papers to fill out, with 50 million questions on each, which she wants me to answer all while trying to stem the oncoming tide of blood and the ebbing away of my life.

Finally it is over and I hand her the papers and she gives me back my license and medical insurance card. We are even, any minute now, the doctor will call me in. That minute happened to be #66, right after the guy with the canker sore, leaving only one loser: me!

I go into the interview room with this young male nurse, who takes my blood pressure and asks even more questions, like:

“Age?”

“68”

“God bless you!”

“?”

What is he kidding? “God bless you,” he says! Me? Am I that old??? Surely 68 is not THAT old? Or is it?

He takes me into the examining room and another nurse comes in, looking at my finger and deciding she needs help, calls back the blesser. He returns and pours a small basin of peroxide and asks me to submerge my finger into it.

“Oh good” I think, I will have it tightly bandaged and get back home. Thank God I don’t need stitches!

In comes Dr Lovely. a beautiful woman doctor, with a great bedside manner, very gentle and calm and reassuring. Stroking my arm she tells me under a soft whisper how sorry she is. Suddenly the pain is dissipating quicker than my wanting to leave anymore! So far, so good, no stitches!

“I’ll have to get the head physician’s assistant,” she purrs. Heck, I got 9 more fingers, maybe one a day until I leave is becoming the plan.

In comes this big, clumsy fellow with a stethoscope around his neck, making jokes a foot a second. Suddenly from a sitting position I go into laying on my back and everyone hovering over me. This is not good for a no needle/no stitch policy, and frankly it is alarming me. Asking questions and bantering with me, Henny Youngman reaches for a small packet and tosses it on a small tray table next to me.

It is a suture kit! They can’t stop the bleeding and put a tourniquet around my bicep, and are squeezing the finger to stop the bleeding! Unwrapping the suture they take out a needle and stick it into my finger.

“Do you feel anything?”

“Yes”

Another needle and:

“Do you feel anything?”

“Yes”

This time he sticks it into the bone, I scream like a girl. 


“Do you feel anything?”
(No I’m a big fan of yours and excited to see you in person, you IDIOT!)

“Yes”
“Do you feel anything?”
By this time I figure out that the suture will be less painful then this Novocain needles!

“No”

After the 4 needles, then the sewing, they dress it and I look like I’m trying to make a point, but what I want to say, I don’t know?

“Come back Tuesday so we can get a look at how well it is healing, keep it above your heart when you sleep and don’t get it wet”, says the nurse.



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