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”
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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