Emergency Room
Time Wasted are Brain Cells Lost
by Terry Light
I zoomed right past the Emergency "waiting room," a contradiction in terms if ever there was one. The duck-haired fellow took me into the first room on the right. He lowered the bed and pivoted me onto it easily.
Suddenly, a nurse and doctor appeared. The nurse talked to me, asking my name, birth date, address and if I could tell her the number of fingers she was holding up in front of my face. I think I could. I don’t remember. The doctor wanted to know when I first started feeling bad. In my slurred voice, I responded that I had not felt good for the last few days.
Six miles or so from home, my phone started ringing.
The receiver was in the pocket of my sweat pants.
I didn’t even know I had put it there.
Oops again.
“Please turn off your cell phone,” said the nurse.
I tried to explain that it was not my cell phone, but
my regular
phone, even though I was far from my house.
Try explaining that in a slurred voice!
No one could have understood me, anyway, but it was evidently a
good effing phone.
I was still using the F-word and I am sure I thought
that was funny, too. The
phone call was from Tim, a business associate from
Evidently, the doctor and nurse could no longer understand me, so they started asking my ‘wife’ all the questions. That’s only natural. Junko didn’t know very many of the answers, though. That’s only natural, too, because I had only known her for a week and most of that was over the telephone and by email.
Junko was not really my wife, but she didn’t want to
leave and I didn’t want her to leave.
I did not like hospitals and had a death-grip on her hand.
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Emergency Room (Table of Contents)
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© 2009 by T. J. Light