At 11pm when Christine and I arrived in the emergency department, first we presented ourselves at the desk where there is a big arrow saying GO HERE FIRST. And a woman came, and asked us personal questions, then referred us to another desk. At the other desk, we stood waiting for about two minutes while the two nurses murmured gossip to one another (because if you murmur, it sounds like you're discussing, not gabbing) behind the glass. Eventually one of them turned around and asked us what she could do for us. At least she didn't ask us how we were. Christine, who was dizzy and overwhelmed, went to sit down and left me to answer this woman's questions - one of which was "So, your friend, she's a single girl, is she?"
"Um?"
"She's single?"
I weighed up the possibilities. Either she meant was Christine dating anyone - a weird question for a emergency nurse to ask, but then, this woman had consciously ignored us for two minutes in favour of gossiping with her friend - or she meant single in the way my Dad means single:
"I'm not married. That means I'm single."I guessed that she meant it in the "eyes of the law" sense and went with "no".
"But you've got a girlfriend!"
"Yes, but we don't live together and we're not married... well, she is. But I'm not. I'm single in the eyes of the law."
And then I sat down with the Girl. The emergency room was filled with sleepy looking folk. I scanned the perimeter, but I couldn't see any open wounds. Boring! So I sat. And waited. By and by, one of the patients became impatient and started fiddling with the TV. He managed to find The Godfather, which was just starting on Channel 10. I was glad to have something to focus my eyes on, but also slightly irritated, because I'd never seen the end of this movie before, and I was sure to miss it now, because Christine would probably be being seen by then, or we'd be driving home, or we'd be home already and Christine would want to go straight to bed and not let me watch TV.
Three hours later, in a hospital waiting room, The Godfather's credits rolled and the third ambulance of the night pulled in at the sliding doors. Paramedics wheeled another stretcher into reception and all I could think was, "Great, another one pushes in front."
Some more patients became impatient and stormed out of the waiting room, presumably to bleed in the comfort of their own beds.
At 3am, Christine told me (for the fourth time) to go and sleep in the car. So I did. I figured it'd be warmer in there. I quickly learned that the heater doesn't work unless the engine is running, so I drove round the block a couple times to get warmed up. It soon dawned on me that if we had to wait much longer, I would have to leave the engine on for several hours, and I had scant petrol and scanter cash. So I called the Girl and said I was heading home to clean up the debris, and that I'd head back when she was being taken to a hospital room, and be there in time to drive her home.
At about 3:30 she got called in, and back I went.
Arrived at 3:40.
Wandered down the corridor into her room. She was alone. No one had seen her yet.
Give it half an hour, and a matronly nurse strode in and asked her the same questions she been asked twice already. How'd it happen, etc., etc., etc. Only this one asked, "How'd it really happen?"
"We were wrestling," I said.
"Ahh. But, friendship wrestling, or fighting wrestling?"
We looked at each other.
"Friendship wrestling."
The nurse nodded. Wrote something down. Off she went.
Give it another half hour and another nurse, a young Asian woman, wandered in. Her English was heavily accented and she was giggly and cheerful. She assumed I was the patient, because I was napping on the bed. Sorry, I'll get up.
Then she assumed, because of the basic dressing administered by the triage nurse, that the injury had been seen by a doctor. Sorry, not yet it hasn't.
She took Christine's blood pressure, asked the question, and wrote more notes. When she left, I looked at the sheet she'd deposited in the paperwork basket at the foot of the bed. In three different places and three different sets of handwriting it said, "Lac R forearm - shattered picture frame".
Yes. That is correct. Can we get a doctor in now perhaps?
At 5:30 I cracked it. "I'm going home." I left her money for a taxi, kissed her goodnight and pissed right off to bed. She sent me a message shortly, saying that there were six patients ahead of her in line and they weren't expecting to see her til 9am. Goodnight honey.
Emergencies are boring. The thing that strikes me most is how so many people, facing such a torturously boring wait, decide that their boredom is more detrimental than the injury that brought them to emergency in the first place. Yes, I speak from the perspective of the unharmed, but I think it's safe to say that Christine contemplated going home many times during that wait, asking me, "Do you think I even need to be here?"
Nah, honey. 'Tis but a scratch.
Moral of the story: I've decided not to get injured at night, ever. I think I can wangle it. Alls I gotta do is build myself a padded "safe" suit. Stiff, so my bones can't bend in two directions at once; thick, so sharp things cannot penetrate; and shock absorbent, so if there is a big bomb, I will not fall down.
Progress will be documented!
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