Once upon a time, my Jeep took it in the back from a sub compact and he didn’t even buy me dinner first. The roads were absolute crap as I was returning home from calling hours (this detail is to evoke sympathy. The honest truth is that I was on my way home from Wegman’s where I stopped to grab Sushi after calling hours…). I suppose getting rear ended hard enough to cause abdominal pain at my surgery site (remember, I just had my gall bladder removed at this point) was probably a good thing because we later learned that my body is not ok with sushi right now. Damn missing gall bladder.
So, due to the ab pain around a fresh surgery site, I was shipped to the ER. Has anyone ever been to the ER on a night when there is terrible weather? Let me tell you, it is not fun. Lots of accidents, lots of people just trying to find a warm bed and warm food. And then there is me. Not my first rodeo. So, I’m on a stretcher and wheeled into the ER triage for ambulances… there are about 6 of us waiting and I am definitely not on the urgent list. But the really cool part of all of this is that the hospital is so packed, there are no beds available out of the 40 plus ER beds so everyone is chilling in beds or recliners in the hallway. Absolutely NO privacy.
After about a 45 minute wait just to be triaged I am shipped out into the waiting room because, my issues were not urgent enough to be seen at that moment. Granted I’m in quite a bit of pain at this point coupled with the anxiety that something happened to my surgery site and I could be bleeding internally. I am also over dramatic.
Three. Hours. Later.
I am finally called back. I am wheeled past beds stacked on beds and people in various states of health. Finally they take me around the corner in an isolated part of the hospital. This seems nice. Except its not nice. It’s the psych ward. That is filled. With psychiatric hold patients. And a drunk guy. My transport hands me a gown and sends me off to a “bathroom” to change. I put bathroom in quotes because there is no lock on the door, no lid on the metal toilet, and buttons to turn a small stream of water on. It’s like a prison bathroom and I suddenly get a cruel look at how we treat those with mental illness (if the baron rooms that looked like glorified horse stalls didn’t give it away on my travel back).
So, I lay in bed in the hall — no call button so thank god I didn’t need anything — waiting for the process to get started: vitals, meds, diagnostics. Nothing. Hours. And nothing. An hour and a half a DOCTOR finally sees me and ships me off for a CT. Mind you I have not had vitals taken since the ambulance ride. I could have been dead and no one would have noticed. CT happens rather quickly and then I am wheeled back to my spot. An hour goes by and FINALLY a nurse comes to stick an IV in me to get some meds going. Still no vitals, though.
I should have put nurse in quotation marks because she was awful. I know her job is stressful and there were a lot of people demanding her attention, but her bedside manner left something to be desired. This was not my first hospital adventure and I have been poked and prodded enough to know that you are not getting a needle in my arm for an IV — hand is the best place on me. So I tell her that. She proceeds to fight with my arm. The needle is jabbing me anywhere but the vein. She’s gone through the vein at this point and I can only tell because it begins to burn with a fire I have never felt before and I exclaim that it is burning. She doesn’t care. She keeps fighting. So at this point I not so nicely say, “I’d rather it go in my hand than to continue to fight for it in my arm.” And she snaps and says, “It’s right there!” And after a few more squeals of pain she finally rips it out, doesn’t block the blood flow, and jabs an IV into my hand and walks away.
At this point I’m hungry, cold, miserable and just want to go home so I just silently sob. A patient care tech notices and brings me a pillow and a blanket and asks me if I’m okay. Bless him. He also spent the time to talk to the drunk across the hall from me. He was great. My “nurse” not so much.
I’m loaded up with morphine (that at this point doesn’t help) and finally another half hour or so later and the doctor comes to tell me I have some internal bruising from the accident and I’m sent home.
This is when things get really fun. Remember the part at the beginning of my story when I told you that the roads were absolute crap? Well, they were much worse upon discharge at 2 in the morning. Ice and snow mixed to form this hard rough tiny mountain like texture on the road. We were in my husbands TINY sedan that sits about six inches off the ground. The drive home was TERRIFYING as his car struggled to cut through whatever the hell was on the uncleaned and untraveled roads.
But by some grace of the gods, we made it home. My husband is a champ for more reasons than just his driving skills.
How is my Jeep you ask? Jeep was saved by my trailer hitch. Just some minor damage to the bumper and muffler. His car? Well, it hit my trailer hitch. Hard. Fast. His car was shredded. Trailer hitch plus sub compact is not a great combination.
And that’s the love story and my last (hopefully) visit to the hospital. That place is just the gift that keeps giving, though, because it gave Dustin and I the FLU! Dustin was down all week and I have been down and out all weekend.
This black cloud will get better though. At least all this rest has given me a chance to be productive and I am HAPPY to announce that my online shop is FINALLY open. You can shop LuLaRoe, jewelry, or Lemongrass Spa 24/7 by visiting http://www.catsandcouture.com/shop
I hope you find something you love! I also hope that you NEVER have your own car vs. car love story.