I had a serious bronchial infection that found me sitting in the Emergency Room at Newton Memorial Hospital for a total of – I am NOT exaggerating – ten hours; seven in the waiting room and three in the actual Emergency Room. The reason we waited the first seven hours is because none of my limbs were ripped off, dangling from their socket, and bleeding all over the carpet, and I wasn’t carrying one of my eyes in a plastic, ice-filled bag. Therefore I was perceived as being in okay condition.

At the beginning of the wait I was interviewed by the Admittance Nurse whose insensitivity only served to contribute to the horror of the day.

Mighty Marc and I were seated at her desk, answering inane questions – none of which pertained to where she thought my next breath might come from – when she had the impertinence to ask, right in front of Mighty Marc, “How much do you weigh?”

How much do you weigh?

She must have been absent during sensitivity training classes because no woman would ever ask that question of another woman while her husband was seated along side her.

In all our years together I have never given Mighty Marc a number to attach to my weight. We both know that it is his job to reassure me that it’s not my fault that I am large boned which causes me to look a little heavier than I actually am. And it is my responsibility to derive pleasure in allowing him to believe that malarkey.

I didn’t know how to respond. Mighty Marc looked the other way and pretended he never heard the question. I grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper from the nurses desk, scribbled my weight and the word “Shhhhh,” on it, then shoved it at her.

She nodded and nothing more was said.

The bronchial infection, combined with asthma, made breathing difficult. But, it mattered not that I was gasping and struggling for air. It mattered not that the color in my face had turned cyanide blue, or that I crawled to the desk every hour explaining my growing distress and my sincere belief that I was running out of air and time.

Finally, I was told that “In the future, if you want immediate care, you should make a point of showing up in an ambulance. It’s the only way to get prompt attention."

" But," she added, “never on Sunday. We’re always short-handed on Sundays.”

After a full seven hours my name was called and I was allowed into the sacred inner Emergency Room, ushered into a cubical and told to lie down on the bed. It felt good to be lying down – at first. But after three full hours had passed without a sign of a doctor, the bed began to feel like a cold cement block and had my back, hips and shoulders rebelling.

Eventually a doctor appeared, cared for me and, within five minutes, sent me on my way.

I survived.

Just remember to plan your next medical emergency for a day other than Sunday. Below are some rules to follow:

1. Even though Sunday is, officially, Honey-Do-Day, stay away from all tools on that day; especially power tools.

2. Arrange for your cold to escalate to pneumonia on a day when Emergency Room doctors aren’t out on the Links.

3. You feel a heart attack or a gall bladder attack coming on? Stop! Wait! Surely you can hold off another 24 hours until Monday.

4. Junior was playing with your electric staple gun and accidentally shot you in the eye? Tough it out. Use your other eye. It’s the reason God gave you two.

5. You discovered popcorn stuck up your toddler’s nose and you can’t retrieve it because it’s attached itself to his nose hairs? Leave it alone. It’s already been there a week. The only reason you have chosen to do something about it now is because you noticed a rancid smell coming from the child’s face. Just remember that if you want the popcorn removed before his tenth birthday, take him to the hospital on a week day, and in an ambulance.

6. No matter how sick you are, do not allow your husband to check in with you at the Admittance Desk. Park him in the Waiting Room with a can of Mace that he’s prepared to use on anyone who attempts to take the only available seat, he’s been saving for you. While he’s protecting your seat you can deal with the insensitive bitch at the Admittance Desk.

_________

Ed. Note:  Laverne H. Bardy is a syndicated humor columnist.  Visit her at www.LaverneBardy.com.  Copyright, Laverne H. Bardy, published with permission. 

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AnnML I't sounds like my last trip with one of my kids to the hospital, she dropped a bowling on her foot. Of course she was not wearing a shoe either, and did I mention she was 3? How that all happened is another story. The ER was slow and filled with all sorts of sick children spreading who knows what in the air I was sure after our 8 hour visit we would all be coming down with Lord only knows what.

Mar 26, 2011, 10:25 AM EDT

MsJuneRose Been there done that...also I was turned away from a hospital because they didn't consider it a true emergency and I don't have insurance, so I went to another hospital and sat there for hours.
Now grant it...if you come in with chest pains or bleeding to death, they will see you right away.
I know people that do become sick from being in the ER, their not very good at separating contagious people from others.

Mar 26, 2011, 5:59 PM EDT

LovesToRead It would be nice if there was a better way to deal with the ER, depending on the size of the city you are in there aren't many options in what is considered Urgent Care but the ER.

Apr 2, 2011, 11:07 PM EDT

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