ERRRRRRRRRRRRR

Recently I spent some time in the local E.R. (That’s Emergency Room for those who don’t watch the NBC drama that is inexplicably in its hundredth season…) Of course, like most people, I would have rather been anyplace else in the known (or unknown) universe. No one wants to have to go to the hospital, unless you are insane. If you are, I mean no disrespect, I just happen to be one of the sane masses who spend time and energy to avoid the emergency room.

Allow me to set the scene… It’s Sunday night. I have just lost our group Oscar pool for the first time ever. The taste of defeat is bitter in my mouth. (Not really – I actually only saw two of the Oscar nominated films this year: Ratatouille and Sicko – but I still hate to loose.) My fiancé and I walk in the door. I sit down at the computer to attempt to get motivated enough to finish a tiny bit of homework when I hear him say “Huh.” It was the most matter-of-fact sound anyone could make. Simple, sincere, confused. “Huh.” When I asked what was wrong, my fiancé showed me his middle finger.

Normally, I would respond in kind… however, it didn’t take an idiot to realize that he wasn’t making an obscene gesture. His middle finger was swollen to roughly two times its normal size. That, believe it or not, was one of the more terrifying things I have ever seen. My reaction was instantaneous. “Why the hell didn’t you mention this when we were at the party?”

Aren’t I the most nurturing soul?

Actually, I was scared. And, we had just left a party attended by a good friend of mine who happens to be a doctor. I was sure that he could calm my nerves and tell me something I wanted to hear. Something like, “Actually, this is a good thing.” Of course, we weren’t at the party any more, so I did what any sane rational person would do at 11pm. I called my mother, the nurse to get her advice. Her groggy advice was to go to the hospital, immediately.

You see, it’s not that I won’t seek emergency care when it is necessary. It’s just that I have this insane fear of all things hospital or emergency related. Bad things happen at hospitals. People die there, sometimes while waiting for care. Of course people also get well there, but my rational mind ceases to function when it is scared. Seeing an appendage of a loved one swell for no apparent reason will scare the best of us.

So we went to the hospital. After I had sufficiently armed myself with knowledge gleaned from Web MD. OK, armed, alarmed, what’s the difference?

When we arrived, a very nice woman told us to sit down and someone would be right with us. I have discovered that “be right with you” is a relative term. For the person waiting, you might expect someone to come out to help you in a few minutes. To the person helping, “right with you” means that they will add you to the bottom of their growing list of things to do and people to see. In our case, I was shocked that we were called back to the triage unit relatively quickly (about 20 minutes after our arrival.)

My fiancé was checked in and the nurse examined him, taking his blood pressure, temperature and whatnot. After poking and prodding at his poor swollen digit, she instructed us to go back to the waiting room. Someone else would presumably be right with us, just as soon as a room opened up. This time the wait was longer. I started watching the movie playing on the 19” TV bolted to the wall. I still don’t know how the unnamed David Spade movie ends, but to be honest, I probably wouldn’t have watched it at all if we hadn’t been in a hospital waiting room. At one point during our wait, I looked over and saw someone mopping the ceiling on the other side of the glass partition. I have to tell you, that added just a touch to my anxiety. What could have gotten on the ceiling? How could anything have gotten on a 12’ ceiling? What could it have been? Did a giant come through with a massive head wound? What could have happened?

I was so engrossed in my contemplation of the mysterious ceiling stain, that I missed several apparently key moments in the David Spade film, because it stopped making any kind of sense when I turned my attention back to it.

Finally, they called us back. We were lead through a maze like mice to a corner. I was wondering which of the numerous empty rooms would be ours. Imagine my surprise when we were told to “sit here” and the nurse pointed to a gurney in the corner of the hallway. That’s right, the hallway. Hallway H, actually. Our hallway had a name. The nurse left, saying that the doctor would be right with us. Awkwardly we both sat down and waited again. No TV this time, and reading my book seemed quite rude to my fiancé who sat staring silently forward, cradling his finger to his chest.

Now, I have to tell you, this isn’t the first time I have been in a hallway at a hospital. I was involved in an auto accident a few years back, and when they decided to take an x-ray of my neck and head to determine the extent of my injuries, they left me in a neck brace on a gurney in an abandoned hallway by the x-ray room. I laid there in an incredible amount of pain for more than an hour before a janitor found me and alerted someone that I had apparently been forgotten.

Of course, keeping that in mind, I was a little apprehensive about our odds of someone getting right with us right there in that hallway, but I kept faith and tried to keep my fiancé calm. If anyone is less suited for a trip to the hospital than I am, it is him. We are quite the pair.
After some time, a nurse came by and took his blood pressure. It was, for some reason, higher than it had been before. Maybe sitting in a hospital hallway in pain was doing something to him. Someone would probably be right with us to find out.

When the nurse left, she assured us that the doctor would be right with us. How unexpected.

Eventually, after time had lost a certain amount of meaning, the doctor came to see us. He poked around, asked a couple of questions and told my fiancé that he had an infection. Antibiotics and pain pills were his suggestion. Fabulous, now I can just collect the prescription and we can get the bleep out of this place, right? Right? Hello? Why am I still sitting here in this hallway? The doctor told us that the nurse would be right with us. Of course she would.

Oh, have I mentioned that I have been removed from the relative comfort of the gurney to a non-padded chair? Michael is now laying on the gurney, his middle finger comically in the air. It looked like he was expressing his opinion on hospitals and the idea that someone would be right with us. I would have laughed if he hadn’t been in so much pain.

Another undetermined amount of time went by. I amused myself by watching the corner of a television in a nearby room and describing the scenes to my poor battered fiancé. He has had his blood pressure checked and rechecked, but still nothing for the pain or swelling of his finger.

During this time, you can hear screaming from one room, arguing from a drunk in the corner, silent sobbing, and the laughter of distant nurses. Somewhere a heart rate monitor was keeping its beeping time. The earth cooled, the dinosaurs came. A meteor struck. Mammalian life evolved. Monkeys began walking upright and using tools. Ancient Rome fell.
And the nurse eventually came back.

This time she put my love on an antibiotic drip and gave him a couple of Percocet. She would be right back with us to check on us. Call me a cynic, but I was beginning to doubt that she would be right back. We were destined to live out our lives here in Hallway H, grow old and gray. Our children and grandchildren could play on the IV stand as a makeshift jungle gym. We could put up a fence and get to know our neighbors. Cook-outs in the nurses’ station would be a blast. Race you to the watering hole – or as the locals call it, the puddle in Hallway I.

Just before I started picking out drapes, the nurse did come back. Michael’s IV was just about done, and we were free to go home. She bandaged him up, put a splint on his finger, and gave us the prescription from the doctor. In just under 5 hours, we were able to secure antibiotics for the infection. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Then the nurse asked me the most ridiculous question I have ever been asked:

“Do you know how to get out?”

What? Five hours ago I was lead through a maze of hallways looking for a room. After spending a small eternity in the warm cocoon of Hallway H, I have no idea that an outside world exists. Of course, if she put a small block of cheese at the end of the line, I might be able to sniff my way out. I have become aware of a gnawing hunger in our time here. Seeing the look of utter disbelief on my face, the nice lady takes pity on us and leads us down the hall, around a series of corners, and out into the waiting area from whence we came.

Hallelujah! We are free. My stomach hurts, my butt is numb, my back is stiff, and my eyes are having a hard time re-adjusting to the blinding light of the exterior waiting room from the dim hallway, but we are free. My fiancé smiles at me and starts to sing… I think the goofballs finally kicked in. I doubt he feels the pain in his finger. I could probably kick him in the face and he wouldn’t feel it. Instead, I think about how wonderful it is to be in the fresh, albeit freezing, air of a Colorado February night. I can worry about food later. Right now I am just happy that Hallway H is a memory, and that the initial scare turned out to be minor. Michael was holding his hand up, his middle finger sticking up thanks to the splint. I turned and mimicked his one fingered salute of the Aurora Medical Center before getting in my car and driving away.

Now I have to go to the pharmacy. Don’t worry, someone will be right with me.