I recently went to the ER.
If you’ve never graced one before, it’s like a three-ring circus, there’s so much going on.
First comes the paperwork as if you’re enrolling in college, with 12 pages requiring signatures, that you know, you should be reading before signing, but d0n’t.
You could be agreeing to donate your organs for all you know, while you’re still alive.
Then, a young man, looking more like a rapper than a technician, comes over with a traveling blood pressure machine to check that and your temperature.
I stupidly say to him, “Do you think I’ll be here for hours?” and without pause says, “Yes,” moving down the line. The woman next to me makes me feel even stupider by laughing before saying, “Where da ya think yar, the booty pa-la?”
Okay, so to my surprise, in less than an hour, a young doctor comes over to examine my leg, yes, I’m having gam issues, reassuring me, if I take my antibiotics the size of footballs, I’ll be okay in a few days.
There’s a handsome, muscular Latino man, in his 30s, sitting next to me, I see right away is in pain.
I ask him, if anyone has seen him yet, and he stoically nods, no.
When my knight in aquamarine scrubs returns with my release forms, I pull him aside and say, “Listen, the guy next to me is really hurting. Can someone see him sooner than later?”
Lancolot says, “Sure, sure, I’ll see to it personally.”
Before leaving, I loiter at the door waiting to see, if indeed this will happen.
After seeing him disappear down the corridor of no return, realize, he meant well, but probably forgot.
When I call it a circus, I’m not kidding.
There’s a man in a wheelchair they rush into the OR because his appendix burst.
A heavy-set woman with a skin issue that makes you move to the other end of the room.
A kid who can’t breathe, plus a good dozen people thinking they’re having heart attacks.
But back to the man who feels it’s a weakness to complain.
I see another doctor I make my same plea to, who looks me up and down like the latest Oldsmobile and says, “Did we take care of you?”
“You did, and I’m very grateful, but this man…
He cuts me off saying, “Who are you, the Norman Rae of the ER?”
(No, I did not make this up) Though taken aback, I say with great aplomb, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”
Not expecting this, he laughs and says, “Okay, where is he now?”
I take his arm, like Scarlett in Gone With the Wind, to make sure he really takes care of my man, who has no idea, Norma of Arc, is in the house.