.png)
Upon entering the waiting area, soon realized it was essentially empty of seats, each six feet apart, only a few occupied. There were, as I recall, half dozen others waiting, some standing along the wall, and one individual seated in a wheelchair. We proceeded to the triage/intake window to check-in and at that point they informed us that Norma could not accompany me into the ER area. She would meet the intake nurse and then returned to wait in the car, which we both imagined could or would be hours. Meanwhile, we waited, the room lacking sound; it felt muffled as each member, eyes down, sat stewing in their own thoughts.
In take process was “normal”–weight, current medication, symptoms and several questions to essentially pre-screen me to determine if I might be a COVID-19 case. After an intake screening, they paged a neurologist to seek additional information and continue the diagnostic process. For now, it appeared most were wearing masks, but social distancing was not doable in this environment. After a fifteen minute intake, I was now moved to an internal waiting room. Norma had already returned to the car, anxiously waiting to receive an update.
Walking to this waiting area, I passed a number (more than a dozen) of cubicles each filled with a patient coughing, sneezing, moaning and groaning, sleeping or, as I was about to be, waiting. This was a busy and a congested space. In the waiting area were four individuals, all with masks separated by seats/space, likely wondering as I, “okay, who has what here?” At this point in time realized I was not leaving soon and called and encouraged Norma to return home to release the Kraken (Daisy) from her cage and wait for updates. I can’t state nor even imagine the concern she experienced, but suspect it was at least equal to mine; and at that point in time, adding to my concern is the realization that my phone was under 50% charged. So, could not spend the time entertaining myself or communicating with the outside world. (Note to all if leaving the house, take an external power source and cable.) I won’t share the next several hours spent here in full, but will offer a short, free-verse summary of the time spent watching people and listening to multiple episodes of the Big Bang Theory on a small, fuzzy TV.
Masks yes, gloves none.
Water fountain available, used by others without sanitizing after each use; … if ever.
Restroom, of course, entered by all (think I can wait for now).
Folks come, and folks go, except me.
Room slowly empties, I can now walk in circles, mumbling and grumbling. Questioning if this was really necessary, knowing deep down I was not getting out tonight.
Trying out different seats, contemplating when they were last sanitized,… if ever?
Tech takes me to get a CT scan, pass the cubicles, again.
Tech takes me to have blood drawn, pass cubicles, again.
Time slowly ticks away, one long minute at a time.
Just saw the eighth episode of the Big Bang Theory, on a small, fuzzy TV.
Texted Norma, “I will turn off cell phone to save power.” Felt like my world was folding in, now just me and four walls, dozen chairs, a water fountain, a closed door with a slit of a window and one a small, fuzzy TV.
New patient, young woman, clearly in pain (left arm/shoulder hanging loosely, pacing, moaning and groaning). Was this a result of an accident or abuse? I’m thinking someone had abused her. She struggles to use her cell, to connect with someone beyond this building. Is it possible the abuser was waiting outside? For the time I sat speculating.
Young woman gone. What actually caused the injury? Whatever, I silently wish her the best.
New patient, police officer (female, one hand a cup of coffee, the other a cell phone).
Reminds me of my sister in Pittsburgh. Hope she is doing well!
Officer needs to clean her shoes. Covered in dirt, but uniform looks sharp. She, without a pause, continues to text without ever acknowledging my presence.
Fifteen minutes later, Officer gone, empty room again.
The door to the hallway included a small window. I peer through, observing an active hallway (hey! do you all remember me? I’m HERE)!
My doctor, the neurologist, ambles in. He sits down next to me, sighs, and relays the findings.
Call home, I’ll be here for the night.
Comments