The ER
It was outrageously late in the evening that I found myself in front of the triage nurse at the local emergency room at 3am. She had perfected the “don't fuck with me but I'm still approachable” face.
It's a fine line, really. She's… nice.
Her stoney expression was focused entirely on her hospital issued computer made of that ubiquitous beige colour, that most solemn of colour that speaks to “I don't care, give me the cheapest one you have”. And while she sat in full view of my arrival she had yet to acknowledge my presence. Even the electrons in orbit of her frizzy hair refused to attempt to bond with my own.
So I took the opportunity to look around and get the lay of the land of this emergency waiting room. Immediately across from the nurses strain laying across several chairs was a little boy clutching his stomach with a fretting mom hovering nearby. He was making a show of it, his tiny moans just loud enough to keep his mother upset. I bet he just needs a good shit.
Stomach troubleshooting 101, c’mere kids gather around I'm going to push out and splash down some knowledge on you;
Assume it's something you ate.
If you feel like you're going to…
Barf, let it happen
Crap, let it happen
Barf and crap, climb into the shower and buckle up - you're in for a rough ride.
Change your position, walk around, jangle your guts together maybe something will rattle lose. Go for a walk.
If something the wrong colour comes out see a doctor. Unless you can trace it back to item 1. Beets scare me every goddamn time.
In the corner a degenerate was suffering from his poisons, from the smell of it his demons were beer and shots. He was being attended to by two extremely irate orderlies. I think he threw up on one or possibly both of them. Hard to tell over their ministrations. The degenerate looked like a college frat kid, big stupid neck beard, shaved face, a backwards baseball cap, 3 jackets each with excessively large collars, and torn jeans. No shoes. I bet there's a story there.
I am a firm believer that every teenager or young adult who upon having discovered the wonders of alcohol, but certainly not to the point of drunken stupor, should be rousted from bed at 2am and dragged to the nearest emergency ward so that they could watch two (or more) miserable orderlies try and measure the common degens blood alcohol level to establish the best course of treatment. Likely he'll get his stomach pumped and wake up feeling like a million bucks, maybe he'll suffer through it and be better for it, maybe he'll die. Tough to say.
Finally glued to the TV suspended from the ceiling was an elderly women connected to some form of official looking contrivance, no doubt under the care of some vampire or ghoul in a human disguise and was trained exclusively to connect humans to terrifying devices that go beep. These contrivances seem to do nothing more than to pump blood out and back in. Kidneys they say are an especially sought after delicacy of the ghouls and vampires and other creatures of the night, no doubt this elderly ladies especially pampered liver, kidneys, what have you, would fetch a high price in low markets. She was hunched over, absentmindedly scratching at the shunt in her arm, her other hand clenched tightly around a walking cane. She wore a simple hospital gown and easily every warm blanket in the hospital. Seriously.
I rounded out this misfit crew as I sat across from the dispassionate eye of Doris, not her real name, who ignored the dripping red life force from my clenched fist. It was only once the blood touched the counter that she slid a box of Kleenex my way, never breaking eye contact from her computer - tap tap tapping away.
“Name?” She said, startling me. We covered the basics as one does, name, address, health card, family doctor, so on… it's like flirting but...I don't know where I was going with that. I'm tired. It's not like flirting.
“What brought you here tonight?” She asked in plain view of my dripping appendage. A little punchy from the events that got me here and looking to breath some humour into this humourless place I pointed to the moaning kid on the bench and said “I think I've got the same thing as him.” My grin was electric, my spirits lifted, I turned back to Doris, not her real name, and was instantly deflated by her expression.
“In that case let's pump your stomach and send you on your way.” She cracked a smile, literally, her face made a cracking sound, before affixing her gaze on my hand.
We stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time, it became obvious that she had no intention of breaking the silence.
“And my hand of course.” I sheepishly added. “I sliced it open. To the bone. Bones. But just one cut.” I'm babbling like a brook what's wrong with me? Perhaps it's her officiant gaze penetrating my brain pan with some form of evil rays or some such.
She grunted to herself before leaning back and she pulled a binder from a nearby shelf. From it she dialed a number into a paging system before looking back at me.
“Have a seat in the waiting area. Don't bleed on anything.” She then held up a finger for me to wait, disappeared into the back, and returned with some fresh gauze. I was about to unwrap my hand before she stopped me and wrapped my hand more. Fingers and everything.
She jabbed a finger into my chest “Don't. Bleed. On. Anything.” She jabbed hard with each word leaving me with the distinct impression that she didn't want me to leak my vital essence anywhere. I think. I should ask her once she's seated and comfortable.
It was only now that I'm sitting in the official waiting area that I hear the music. It's awful.
The lighting is monstrous, every bulb is flickering but at a different rate. As if this was the devil's waiting area
And the smell! The smell is… oh no wait the smell is that drunk guy. He for sure barfed.
An exhausted doctor padded into the waiting room, saw me, made eye contact and nodded towards a door before walking towards it. I followed.
She led me through a labyrinth of smells and people and sounds until we finally arrived at exam room 15.
“So you cut your flan?” She asked.
“Hand.” I said waving my wrapped appendage.
The doctor looked at the notes more carefully. “I'll need to correct your intake before it gets filed…”
She beckoned me to sit on a chair, donned some latex gloves and proceeded to take the gauze off. I was about to talk when her hand smushed me uncomfortably across the mouth while she said “Shhh… I've been up for 38 hours straight I'm in no mood.”
She pulled the last of the now dyed red padding before leaning back appreciatively.
“Midnight snack… very very sharp knife. Cutting something frozen? Bagel from the freezer!”
I nodded “Exactly! I was going to mgllffff.” She smooshed my mouth again.
She pulled my skin apart and blood started to leak every which way.
“Whoop I thought that that had clotted. Let's get this sewn up shall we?”
She grabbed my other hand and plopped it on the party favour giving it a squeeze while she turned away to gather up her things. I applied pressure and admired how efficient she seemed.
“You guessed that very quickly.” I admired.
“I'm married.” She responded.
My god was I flirting with her? My fair haired maiden of midnight snack knife knowledge? This smoosher of mouths? My gods I am. I've fallen in love in an instant with her complete lack of charm yet complete abundance of cool efficiency.
Who is this Florence Nightingale with the exhausted eyes? I looked closer. Sensible, comfortable shoes. Hospital issue greens, a doctor's white over coat, stethoscope draped around her neck. Blond hair cut short by adorably tucked behind her ears, a cute button nose that scrunched up adorably when the smell of my wound hit her, crystal clear brown eyes, soft kissable lips...
She snapped her fingers in my face to wake me from my reverie.
“Don't feel bad, it happens more than you'd know. In about twenty minutes when the pain killer I injected into your hand wears off and the stitches make themselves known you'll forget all about me.”
“Never.”I breathed lustily. Injected? I looked down, the palm of my hand was a zigzag of stitches. Huh. I didn't even - she's gone.
I'm alone.
The triage nurse appeared at the doorway, clipboard in hand, making disapproving noises. She heard everything.
I sheepishly followed her out and then she walked me outside before she stopped me at the doorway.
“Nothing good comes from decisions made at...3:45am.” she added glancing at her watch.
I tried to smile.
“Her shift is over in 5 hours and 15 minutes, if you really care come back in 5 hours and 15 minutes. I'll still be on shift. She's not married but tells that to the guys to keep them away. If you show up I'll page her myself. If you don't…”
“If I don't…?”
“Then you're just another horny piece of shit.”
5 hours and 5 minutes later…
Flowers in hand I stepped through the emergency room doors, I waved at the triage nurse and without smiling or expressing any hint of emotion or recognition she pulled a binder from a nearby shelf.
