Sam Rosamond: My Trip to the Emergency Room

MY TRIP TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM

by Sam Rosamond

Disclaimer: This story is not a put-down of Doctors and Nurses that work in ERs and have saved lives for many years. This is especially true during the COVID 19 pandemic. This is a story about my going to the ER and thinking that my condition is the worse one in the ER. Wondering why the staff is not continuously hovering over me. I am not considering that the staff is down the hall saving lives of critical patients. I am sure many can relate to this feeling. If you cannot, best not to read the story and move on to another.

For families, without doctors or nurses being members, one of the biggest decisions made by the head of household is to decide whether to take a family member to the ER. Little Johnny’s high fever, Grandmother’s stomach cramps, and Dad being run over by the lawn mower never happen during doctor’s office hours. Family members spend hours weighing the decision, do we go to the ER, or will the problem solve itself?

When a construction project is ready to go because all requirements to start construction have been met, it is termed “Shovel Ready.” One afternoon, after my wife moved to Lambeth and I was still living at our house, I was working in my shop on a project. As fate would have it, I severely cut my left forearm. It was so bad that I could see muscle, sinew, veins, and arteries. I found a partially-clean shop towel, wrapped the wound, and was able to stop the bleeding. Believe me, there was no hesitation in deciding to go to the ER. This wound was “ER Ready.” I ran out of the shop, got in the car, and headed for the ER, not even bothering to lock the house.

At the ER I checked in at the desk giving them my insurance cards and provided them other necessary information, including date of birth, and was told to have a seat. Later, the Triage Nurse called me to her station. She took all my vital signs, list of prescriptions, and medical history (I just can never remember what my Great Grandfather Rosamond died of) and asked my date of birth. Why does everyone in the world now want to know my date of birth? She finally asked me why I was there. I am sure she noticed the bloody shop towel wrapped around my arm. I removed the towel and showed her the severe cut, muscle, sinew, veins, and arteries. I told her I was lucky to be alive. I could see on the monitor she was typing “bobo left arm.” BOBO!

I followed her through the code-protected door, past several rooms with operating like tables, huge lights over them, glass-fronted cabinets loaded with dressings and medical equipment. We did not stop at any of those, but she brought Bobo all the way down the hall to the last room on the left directly across from the staff’s toilet. She told me to take my shirt off and put on the gown that was on the bed and instructed me that it opened to the back. I was so terribly upset over the bobo comment and the location of my room that I wised off “this is not my first rodeo.” She went over to the computer in the room, and I could see her type in “Bobo has an attitude.” Before leaving she gave me a device with a cord attached to it. She said that if I pushed the red button at the top, it would call the nurse and the other buttons (all fifteen of them) operated the TV. Upon her departure, avoiding the red button, I attempted to activate the TV. After many tries, I could not figure out how to turn it on. The nurse on the other hand spent five minutes explaining to the man in the next room how to operate the TV and even left an operating manual with him. Obviously, Bobos do not get the same treatment.

A great amount of time went by, and no one came to the room. This ER was not operating at the same speed as the ones in Emergency and ER on TV. Finally, the nurse came back to check on me. I told her that I had observed a White Board in the room with all sorts of information on it. I told her that I noticed that Dr. Feelgood was on duty and that I had heard a lot of good things about him. She told me that Dr. Feelgood had been on duty three nights ago. That they did not have time to keep the board up to date, that this board was Somebody-in-the- Administration’s idea. OK. I said I noticed that Dr. Rad was the radiologist. She told me that Dr. Rad died three years ago, that they keep his name on the board to honor him. He was loved by all of us, and it keeps us from having to change that entry each day. OK. I then told her that stenciled at the bottom of the board was a telephone number I could call if I had any questions about my treatment and even the cleanliness of the room. She told me that that number had not worked for three months. That they keep telling Maintenance about it, but they have done nothing, they are not as efficient as we are. OK. On her way out she told me that the doctor would be in shortly. Her name was Dr. Hate Oldpeople. HATE Oldpeople! The nurse told me that I must be hard of hearing as she had said Kate Oldpeople, not Hate Oldpeople. OK. Well, eventually Dr. Kate came in followed by the nurse to check on Bobo and asked why I was there. I told her that I had a severe cut on my left forearm and that you could see muscle, sinew, veins, and arteries. She looked and said to the nurse, would you please go down the hall and get a bandaid out of my purse.

If anyone would like to see the scar, just call me.