Marc
My First Real Life Visit to the Emergency Room: Sooooooo, I have this thing that's wrong with me, and it's been bothering me, and I don't know what to do about it, and I finally decide "fuck! I'll go to the emergency room." So, I get into Waterbury, Connecticut at about midnight EST and check into my hotel. "Where's the nearest emergency room?" I ask. Right down the street, thank god. So, I drive, walk in, throw my name down, get in trouble for having my cell phone ring, and proceed to wait . .. and wait . .. and wait. ... "Marc!" someone screams. I jump up, bolting towards the person with the clipboard. "Follow me," she says. We mosey into a small room, in full view of the other seven people waiting for treatment of some type, and she takes my temperature, checks my blood pressure, and asks me a few questions. "Okay, you can go back and have a seat," she says. Sure, sitting, I can do that. And I do .. .. and do . .. and do. Half an hour later, a woman screams "MARC!" I jump up again, bolt to the window that she's barricaded behind. "That's me," I say, as chipper as I can muster. "I just need some information from you. Date-of-birth, father's name, medical plan, etc., etc. . .." This only takes about twenty-minutes. Awesome! Apparently being an out-of-towner throws some kind of wrench into the whole system. "Okay, you can go sit back down now." And again, I proceed to sit . .. and sit. . . and sit. A man comes in, complains loudly about how he fell on his arm, and sits nexts to me. "Every time I have major surgery," he says, "they send me over to that goddamn West Haven VA Hospital." Great. "Damn fifteen-month-old kid threw his toys on the ground and made me trip, he's gonna hear it in the morning." NOTE: Stench of alcohol seems to have suddenly wafted my way. "I swear, I'm a damn veteran of eight years and they never treat me with any respect around here . .." I want to kill myself. Fourty-minutes later, a nurse walks up to the cubicle. "MARC!!" she screams. I stand. "Follow me," she mutters. She hands me a cup, shows me the can, says "fill it up and go wait in that room". I do, and I do. Doctor comes in ten minutes later, asks me a few questions, writes me a prescription, tells me all about it, and tells me I'm good to go. Nurse comes in five minutes after that, makes me take three pills (none of which made me smaller), and tells me I can go home.
I didn't get naked. No one shoved their fingers up my ass. Yet, it still took two and a half hours to get through. Sheesh. I could've run a mile in that amount of time . .. maybe.
My First Real Life Visit to the Emergency Room: Sooooooo, I have this thing that's wrong with me, and it's been bothering me, and I don't know what to do about it, and I finally decide "fuck! I'll go to the emergency room." So, I get into Waterbury, Connecticut at about midnight EST and check into my hotel. "Where's the nearest emergency room?" I ask. Right down the street, thank god. So, I drive, walk in, throw my name down, get in trouble for having my cell phone ring, and proceed to wait . .. and wait . .. and wait. ... "Marc!" someone screams. I jump up, bolting towards the person with the clipboard. "Follow me," she says. We mosey into a small room, in full view of the other seven people waiting for treatment of some type, and she takes my temperature, checks my blood pressure, and asks me a few questions. "Okay, you can go back and have a seat," she says. Sure, sitting, I can do that. And I do .. .. and do . .. and do. Half an hour later, a woman screams "MARC!" I jump up again, bolt to the window that she's barricaded behind. "That's me," I say, as chipper as I can muster. "I just need some information from you. Date-of-birth, father's name, medical plan, etc., etc. . .." This only takes about twenty-minutes. Awesome! Apparently being an out-of-towner throws some kind of wrench into the whole system. "Okay, you can go sit back down now." And again, I proceed to sit . .. and sit. . . and sit. A man comes in, complains loudly about how he fell on his arm, and sits nexts to me. "Every time I have major surgery," he says, "they send me over to that goddamn West Haven VA Hospital." Great. "Damn fifteen-month-old kid threw his toys on the ground and made me trip, he's gonna hear it in the morning." NOTE: Stench of alcohol seems to have suddenly wafted my way. "I swear, I'm a damn veteran of eight years and they never treat me with any respect around here . .." I want to kill myself. Fourty-minutes later, a nurse walks up to the cubicle. "MARC!!" she screams. I stand. "Follow me," she mutters. She hands me a cup, shows me the can, says "fill it up and go wait in that room". I do, and I do. Doctor comes in ten minutes later, asks me a few questions, writes me a prescription, tells me all about it, and tells me I'm good to go. Nurse comes in five minutes after that, makes me take three pills (none of which made me smaller), and tells me I can go home.
I didn't get naked. No one shoved their fingers up my ass. Yet, it still took two and a half hours to get through. Sheesh. I could've run a mile in that amount of time . .. maybe.
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