| Sassy's Boo Boo |
This was still too scary to me to write about until now, but enough time has passed for me to really be able to enjoy the Comedy Of Errors that was this adventure.
Several months ago, I was just walking out of work when my phone rang. It was Sassy, and he sounded terrible.
"Meg, I'm sick. Really sick. And I don't know what to do. Can you please come home?"
"What's wrong?"
"I blacked out in the subway. My heart is racing and I can't stop sweating and shaking."
"How long has this been going on? Do you have any pain anywhere?"
"My stomach. And...and I just really feel horrible."
His breathing was shallow, and it was making me nervous. Sassy never, ever complains about being sick. He is loathe to call attention to himself when isn't at his shiniest, gayest, and bitchiest. If he has the flu or a hangover or something comparable, he locks himself in his room until it passes, and then he'll fling open the door and resume borrowing my bubble bath and drinking my coffee. So if my Special Little Fella was even mentioning his symptoms, let alone asking me to come home and help him, I knew it was bad.
"Okay. I'm coming home right now, okay? And I think we should go to the hospital."
"No. I really don't want to."
"I am sure you don't, but if you blacked out and you can't stop shaking and your heart is beating that fast, then you might want to get an EKG."
"Can't you do that?"
"Sassy, I'm not going to McGyver a home EKG out of my iPod and the remote control or some shit like that. This is no joke."
"Just come home, okay? I'll feel better when you're home. And I don't want to go to the hospital."
"I'm coming. But if you're not better in a while, say an hour or so, we're going."
"Bye. Hurry."
I packed up my crap and left work. As I was trucking to the subway, I tried to think what could be causing Sassy's physical distress. To be honest, a more accurate question would be "What ISN'T contributing to his current state?" Sassy leads the unhealthiest of lifestyles. He drinks like he's one of my family, he hobbies in hallucinogenic drugs, he never ever eats, and he has been a pack-a-day smoker for I don't know how long. He's basically a shitshow.
I was almost to the train when my phone rang again. It was Sassy.
"Are you almost home? Please, hurry," he said raspily. He was breathing even faster than before, and he sounded near tears.
"Baby, do you need me to call 911?"
"No. But I think we might actually need to go to the hospital. Can you take a cab home?"
"Okay. Yes, I can. And I'll call a car to take us to the hospital, okay? Sit tight until I get there."
"How soon will you be here?"
"As fast as I can."
"Hurry."
No cab was willing to take me to Queens (fuck you guys) so I had to get on the train anyway, and then run home from my stop. We called a car service and rushed over to Mount Sinai-Astoria (motto: We make you feel worse for twice the cost) where he was triaged and put in a little curtained-off area of the emergency department.
A man came over to take Sassy's personal info. The man asked about insurance plan, occupation, phone number, alcohol intake, diet, recent medications, and many other bits of trivia. Of all of the questions, Sassy could only answer the phone number one. Even that one he deferred to me, though. He's so lazy.
Finally, the man got to In Case Of Emergency Contacts. "Emergency Contact Person?" he quizzed.
"Her," said Sassy, raising an eyebrow towards me. I was touched.
"Relationship to patient?"
"Hag," he answered, not missing a beat.
"What?"
"SHE. IS. MY. HA-" he declared rudely, before I put my hand over his mouth.
"I'm his roommate."
"Oh. Well. The doctor will be in shortly."
We were biding our time watching other sickies come and go when a grimy-looking young man in scrubs approached us and handed Sassy a hospital gown. Well. He TRIED to hand Sassy a hospital gown. He held it out for Sassy to take but Sassy didn't move a muscle, and instead eyed that gown like the guy was trying to give him a bowl full of phlegm.
"I. Am. NOT. Wearing. THAT."
"Thir, you have to wear thith. The doctorth need acceth to your chetht. For your exam." The hospital technician looked at me for help.
Good luck, cowboy. Sassy will barely tolerate public transportation. There is no way in hell he will agree to publicly shared clothing.
Sassy narrowed his eyes. "I'll take off my shirt. But I am not putting that piece of shit on my skin."
"Thir. You have to. You have to put it on."
"Why?" I asked. "If he is willing to have his chest exposed for the exam, why is it necessary for him to wear the gown?"
"Becauth...becauth it'th the HOTHPITAL. You can't be NAKED in the HOTHPITAL."
"Meg, I don't have to wear that, do I?" Sassy's beady little eyes looked at me imploringly.
"No. No you do not." I said. I turned to the tech. "We'll pull the curtain around his bed to avoid traumatizing the other patients and he'll remain in here, but I bet it isn't necessary to put that thing on to receive care. Furthermore," I continued, my voice tremulously rising to a Just Try It squeak, "I work in a hospital, and I happen to KNOW that people are naked ALL THE TIME while they're being checked out."
The tech realized he was fighting a losing battle and slumped away, and I pulled the curtain around Sassy with a dramatic huff.
We waited and waited and waited, then some lady gave Sassy an IV which immediately improved his color, and then we waited and waited and waited some more, and finally, a doctor approached us.
She had short dyed-red hair, was probably in her early fifties, had a pursed mouth and an unhappy face, and walked with a cane and a limp. Sassy and I both eyed her suspiciously. "Oh great," Sassy moaned, at a volume that was INCREDIBLY AUDIBLE, "I get the crippled one."
"Shut up, dick."
"I don't feel like talking to her. Will you handle this?"
"This isn't like signing for a package, moron. You're going to have to tell her your symptoms."
"You KNOW my symptoms..." Sassy whined. I looked at him, about to tell him where he could shove his symptoms, but then I saw tiny beads of sweat at his hairline, and noticed he'd gone pale again. My little guy was not feeling so well.
"Sure. I'll take care of it as much as I can."
The doctor came up to us and started asking Sassy the same questions we'd answered for both a nurse and an emergency room aide. I answered them as best I could, but then got pissed off because she was using baby talk to ask Sassy about his medical history, so I started rattling off previous episodes of a similar nature while throwing in all the "correct medical terminology" so she'd know that any time she decided to STOP using that special tone of voice was JUST FINE BY ME, THANKS.
NOT THAT I AM DEFENSIVE.
In any case, all that ended up happening (after hours and hours and hours of waiting) is that they took some blood and sent him home. And then billed him 1200 dollars or something. It was awesome. Thanks, Medical Community.
Oh, but the best part came when they finally took out his IV. He'd given them the bloods, he
had given some urine, I think, and then had been told by the staff that he was done, they just needed to remove his IV. And then everyone who worked there decided to play a big game of "Let's Pretend They're Invisible" and thusly, we waited even longer. Finally, 2 hours after we'd been told we could leave (as soon as that pesky IV was out!), I decided I'd had enough, so I flagged down that (un)helpful aide from before, and see what he could do about all of this.
"Can you get someone to come remove my friend's IV so we can go home?"
"Um, I can remove it for you."
"Are you sure?" Because really?
"Yeth, no problem. I'll do it."
"Have you done this before?"
"Uh. No."
I started to protest, but Sassy stopped me. "If he takes it out, I can go home. It will be fine. I just can't watch."
Well, neither could Fake Doctor McShitty apparently. He put on some gloves, removed the tegaderm patch without holding on to the catheter part, and then got his gloves stuck to the tape, tried to jerk them free, but just ended up yanking out Sassy's catheter, and his blood started running down his arm, and Sassy's eyes rolled up in his head and he said, and I quoth, "Glooooth."
"For Christ's sake, knock that shit off," I yelled. I grabbed the gauze that had formerly been wrapped around Sassy's paw and jammed it onto his bloody hand, raising it above his head. With the other hand, I rolled the catheter into the tegaderm patch so that it would stop oozing blood all over Sassy's pants and the sheets of this god-forsaken shit hole of a hospital.
The aide, still trapped in that pesky Chinese fingertrap of his own idiocy, started sputtering apologies. I said "It's fine, don't worry about it. Can you please get my friend a band aid?" and then turned to revive little Sass, who hadn't passed out completely but was damn near.
"I hate this place so much. Can we please go home?"
"Of course."
The doctor that had seen Sassy earlier happened to be nearby, and she turned and asked "Are you okay?"
"No, I am NOT okay," Sassy snapped. "I've been here for five hours, you can't do anything to make me feel better, and I think my IV was just removed by the janitor. I'm leaving."
We stalked out as haughtily as possible, considering we were tired and frazzled and some of us had big hair because that ER was humid as balls.
Updated to add: He's fine now! Don't worry. My little guy is just as pretty as ever. Here he is dressed as Amy Winehouse for a karaoke contest:
 Labels: accidents, friends, subway, TMI, weirdos |
|
| 15 Comments: |
-
I hope he gets better. Someone with that amount of wit should be galloping spreading those fantastic one-liners outside!
-
i just don't understand hospitals. or doctor's offices. or anything having to do with the medical profession at all really, except that which takes place at my local planned parenthood office where everyone is organized and informative and competent. why is that?
and i dig the soul-patch. it goes so well with the rest of his outfit.
-
I hope his outfit came complete with trackmarks and bloody ballerina flats. That's bloody for real blood, not bloody like the British use to mean "fucking".
Glad that he's well now.
-
"Gloooth" had me guffawing at work. And usually I can maintain some self-control out of an acute sense of self-preservation. Well done, I say.
-
So, what was wrong? Dehydration or something?
But man, what a dramatic story. I hate how unhelpful hospitals can be. My mom's an ER manager, so I hear all about the shitty nurses she has to deal with all the time.
-
Just found your blog thru traditional stalking methods. So funny (not that your friend was sick, but your writing). Anywho (hate when people say that and I just did) I'll be back. Muuuaahhhhh
-
THat picture is awesome. I'm glad he's feeling better.
-
evie- thank goodness for you. i saw your comment and posted the update. i can't believe i forgot to mention he pulled through...
js- i hate them too, and i work in one. when i am a medical professional it will be different. in other news, i had a doctor's appointment yesterday and i scolded my doctor and made her cry. oops.
yvo- i think it did.
maura- i know, i almost laughed when he made that noise, even though i was busy being super pissed.
angela- we never found out, but i'm pretty sure it has to do with all the drugs and alcohol he lives off of, plus it was summer and super hot and he is a bit of a swooner anyway.
pom- i just looked at your blog. you are a fierce athlete! color me impressed!
em- thanks, lovey. i'm glad he's better too. i just love him to pieces.
-
He looks hotter than the real Amy Winehouse.
-
You should get a job as a private-hire hospital fixer. Like you come in and clean up after all of the crappy doctors and speed things along.
-
Surviving- I agree.
HS- Like Nanny 911, but for hospitals?
-
He's hotter than Amy Whinehouse.
And I'm glad he's feeling better!
So scary when someone you love is feeling like pure crap.
-
i don't pull this phrase out very often... but that bitch is hot.
(sassy, i know you'll read this
eventually. for serious, you are pulling that costume off with SERIOUS flair.)
-
this is the real sassy here. bows.curtsies.
only the sweet, succulent, juicy prose of megsie could do me and my misadventures justice. she did leave out one tid-bit, perhaps because i failed to mention it, but while sweatily staggering on the streets i asked a cop for a ride home but he said "nah kid, i'm busy".
lucky for him, i was in a state of complete discomboobulation or i'd have busted out with some "lazy pig!" or "new yorks worstest".......
make that lucky for me.
in conclusion, and i said NO NO NO!
-
great story. i had to laugh that he actually went ahead and referred to you offically as his hag at the hospital. too funny
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
Name: A Lover and a Fighter
Home: New York, NY
About Me: "It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information."
-Oscar Wilde
See my profile...
|
|
|
|
|
background by tayler
TackODing font
|
|
I hope he gets better. Someone with that amount of wit should be galloping spreading those fantastic one-liners outside!