Pictures By Alan

A few days after, I wrote up the experience of waiting in an emergency room all night long. Here's the text:

So, the story of how this came about: Biking to the store Saturday, for various reasons I had my canvas sack dangling from the handlebars, without the U-lock in it to stiffen it. It got sucked into the front fork and stopped the front wheel dead, and over I went. This is pretty much exactly the same thing that happened a few months back, but this time I wasn't so lucky on the landing.

At the time, though, I didn't feel so bad. Arms and hands were sore, but nothing seemed bad. I did my shopping (I used a cart instead of carrying a basket, like I normally do). Went home and, unpacking groceries, my left arm was getting progressively weaker. Anything with any heft at all I had to move with my right hand.

Not long after I went to bed, but that pesky left arm was giving me fits. It had to lay just so, or it hurt a lot. I couldn't sleep with it. I got up and took some tylenol. Suddenly I had an odd symptom -- a sudden chill that left me feeling freezing -- I ran for bed and crawled under covers. It passed after several minutes. I got up and took my temp and it was around 97.8, which is normal for me (I run a little cold). Tried to sleep, but no hope of it. Finally, around maybe 12:15, I got up and got dressed. That was pretty hard to do. I drove myself to the St Joseph emergency room and checked in just before 1 AM. A nurse took my vitals. Blood pressure a little high, 140 / 80, pulse 92 (only a little high for me, my rest pulse has always been fast), temp exactly what I had measured. Back to waiting. And waiting. I gather from nurse talk that they're dealing with four stabbings. Later there are lots of people crying, and I supposed someone must have died. I had expected a long wait, so I brought a most excellent collection of Roger Zelazny short stories with me, awkwardly titled 'The Doors of His Face, The Lamps of His Mouth, And Other Stories'. I read Lucifer. I read A Museum Piece. I read The Keys To December, one of his finest stories. A man in a wheelchair was waiting nearby and throwing up frequently, and his friends were poking him and keeping him awake, I suppose he had alcohol poisoning or an overdose or something.

A technician came for me to get X rays, maybe 2:30 or so. He was very nice, a big guy, told me he used to box so he knew about sprained wrists. My left elbow hurt like hell by this point. It was amazingly sensitive to motions, especially twists of the wrist. We took two X rays on their cool new all-digital equipment. It was painful to position my arm just so, but I only had to hold it a few seconds. He tells me the pain is probably muscle related. Some muscle is stuck in pull-hard mode, I gather. I asked for some water and he gave me a small cupful. He shows me the X rays. He doesn't see anything broken. The elbow looks great. Probably just a bad sprain. But, he cautions me, he isn't a doctor. The doctor will have the final call.

And back to the waiting room. Too much pain for reading. Things were slowing down 3ish, and I was very tired. I tried to sit perfectly still so my arm wouldn't move. I was hoping the doctor would be ready for me soon. The pace of the nurses moving about began to pick up, and someone told us that there were three more stabbing victims on the way. So I knew it would be at least a few more hours for me. The guy in the wheelchair was better. They found a bed he could lay on. I wish I could do the same but I was sitting at attention almost, my right arm holding my left arm *just so*. Maybe ten other people were there. At least two had babies with them.

4:30 or so, a nurse called me. She was the same one who had got my vitals when I checked in. She was pretty but not very friendly; I think her name was Alyssa. The X ray guy had set my bag on the floor beside me. With great difficulty I picked it up and went to her. I hoped she had a doctor, but it was just a re-check of vitals. I could have left the bag where it was. Blood pressure was down to 130 over something. I don't remember the rest. She asked me, in that automatic do-you-want-fries-with-that voice of a person who has asked this question so many times she no longer cares what the answer is, "On a scale of one to ten with ten being the worst pain you have ever felt how would you rate your current pain?" She had asked the same question when I checked in, and I had said seven then. I told her eight and a half.

Back to my seat. I kept the bag in the chair beside me, left the strap over my shoulder, resumed my statue pose, right arm holding left arm in place. I couldn't see the clock, but I knew more than an hour passed. Nurses and policemen wandered through. The policemen all carried molded plastic boxes, like power tools come in. I wondered what they were until the light caught one just right, and I saw JVC inscribed on the side. Aha - they're video recorders almost certainly. Presumably for recording testimony. Somewhere, doctors and nurses are sewing up stabbing victims. How do they keep from getting bloody? I always wonder that. Do they change scrubs after every operation? Or do they cover their scrubs so completely that they only need to throw away the covers?

A man and a woman, young and together, have been there longer than me. I wonder what is wrong. Until Alyssa called the man over to recheck his vitals, I wasn't sure which was the patient. What is so important that he's waiting so long, and at this hour, when he isn't in pain but merely seems bored? Earlier I had asked them what time it was. We talked a bit. They've been here since midnight. They are in line ahead of me. I wonder if the nurses ever shuffle the order of patients. Though they were here ahead of me, anyone can see I'm in more pain.

A nurse calls me. I get up and walk past the young couple. Evidently I did get promoted above them. She leads me through several rooms and halls, to a small room. She invites me to get in the bed. That is impossible, it's too high. I sit in a chair, drop my bag beside me. I am very tired; I think she asks me questions. Everyone there had the same questions. Date of birth, allergies. Sept 30 1968, amoxycillin tetracycline erythromycin. She left me alone for a while. I look around till I see a clock on a computer monitor. It's after 6. Another nurse, paperwork, insurance card. It's in the bag. She helps me fetch it from my checkbook. She takes it away to do whatever she does with them.

And suddenly, doctor. Tall thin fellow. He looks chipper and alert. Like he is really enjoying himself. Later I learned he has no regular practice; he works ER full time. He has inspected the X rays and my arm is fractured. Good news is it should heal up fine. No surgery needed, just a cast and sling for 5 to 6 weeks. Crap, that long? Yes that long. Boss is not going to be happy at all. But there's no helping it, it takes as long as it takes. Nurse brings back insurance card, helps me put it in checkbook. Doctor asks if she was holding it hostage. They all leave, nurse returns in a bit with some Motrin and water. I'm very thirsty, keep the cup and eat the ice from it.

Doctor returns with cast supplies. He measures my right arm so it doesn't hurt much, then he cuts lengths of things he'll need. Then he tries to position my arm like he wants. He says that, for comfort, a 90 degree elbow bend is ideal. But it just won't go there. It's agony to try. He settles for what he can get, about 110 degrees. Covers the arm with felt, then bends a length of fiberglass around it. He had softened it with hot water somehow. It quickly sets. He wraps two ace bandages about that. He's telling me things and making conversation but I was so tired, I only remember some. He asks about my shirt, which is the black vis-a-go-go shirt. I told him about it.

Then they were done. He gives me a vicoden prescription and some papers. They say Printed 06:35. He asks how I got there, I told him I drove myself. He asks if I can drive home; yes I can. Walgreens is open 24 hours, if I want the vicoden now. Yes I do, thanks.

Then Walgreens. Home. Pills. Bed.

Through all the ER waiting, what I remember thinking most was an odd combination of resentment and gratitude. I was annoyed at the very long wait, especially when I was in such pain. But clearly I was much better off than a lot of other people. The stabbing victims used a different entrance, so I did not see them, but I knew I was in better shape than they were. One died, as the Eagle reported later. I will remember the sound of her relatives crying, and especially the toddler who was calling out "mama! mama! mama!" over and over. I hope that it was not her daughter. I suppose I'll never know.

So, I guess you have my life in a nutshell there. Things suck. And they could be infinitely worse.