He's More Machine Than Man!
"Huh...that finger sure is turning into a sausage. And boy howdy, does it hurt to move." Being my thoughts on Saturday, as I hung out at Ritual Café not having coffee with a guy I chatted with online. "I think I'll go to the urgent care people now." The nearest urgent care was at San Francisco General Hospital.
SFGH has few signs to help you understand things like where does one park? Where is the urgent care place? How do I not get shivved? So after asking an information human, I find a rather dank building with poor lighting and the urgent care within. The triage nurse is chatty, and we strike up a conversation about cats and their bitiness. The waiting room is full, and the TV is showing one of the Harry Potter movies with spanish subtitles. I read about Capote's shitty childhood.
I'm eventually shuffled back to a room to await the nurse practitioner. She tries to shoo me off with some simple antibiotics. I would be happy with that, but danged if it doesn't look like there are red marks going up my arm. "Hmm, this might involve you going to the ER." Um... Yeah, she calls them and they're all, "Send his ass over here!"
Anyone who doesn't think that our healthcare system in this country is in crisis should visit the ER of a major hospital. It's kind of a nightmare. Packed with people, most of them have had to let their ailments get so far along because they lack health insurance that they're in serious trouble now. Tonight, we're being serenaded by a schizophrenic guy in a wheelchair, who has one foot, no teeth, and keeps screaming and hitting himself. Another guy, who seems to have rolled around in dirt before coming to the hospital. Several children, with frightened parents (and some with parents who don't really care about them). There's also a guy who sits next to me, and starts muttering under his breath about god knows what, but it's apparent that it's directed at me. I play a ruse where I get up, wait for him to move, and then sit back down and place my bag in the seat next to me.
A few short hours later, I'm whisked to the room where doctors hide out from the public. My doctor is the improbably-named Dr. Salmon. In a hospital comedy-drama, she would be the smart, capable female doctor, who is very knowledgable but doesn't have a great bedside manner, and thus is shunned by the rest of the doctors, until they realize that she has a rich inner life. I'm to be given intravenous antibiotics to fight this infection...
...eventually...
Things at the hospital happen at a glacial pace. It's midnight before I get the IV. They're keeping me overnight, because they may have to operate in the morning to drain the infection. See, the worry is that the infection might get into the "sheath" that contains the ligament, thus rendering my finger useless. I'm double plus unhappy about this. They take me to my temporary lodgings: room 518A. If I go outside of the doors of 5A, I'll be declared AWOL and "discharged" from the hospital. So, those big doors? Avoid!
My roommate is an older man, who is having real troubles with his bowels. He has apparently had cancer before. This may be related. I read about Capote's adolescence.
Sleeping in a hospital turns out to be a cruel joke. Every time I would get near sleep, Nurse Delia would materialize next to me bed to give me more antibiotics, or to take my vital signs ("Only if you give them back!" is the witty quip from Mr. Wendling), or to remove some of my precious blood. The other times, I would hear my roommate's TV (which was on low volume, but enough to wake me up). I give up around 5:30AM, and just read more about Capote's adolescence.
Oh, and because I'm scheduled for surgery, I'm not given any food or water. I haven't eaten since noon on Saturday. The good news, though, is that the swelling has gone way down. Dr. Seib, the finger expert from the night crew at ER, looks at it and says that maybe they won't need to operate. PLEASE LET THIS BE SO! She wants her boss to check it out. And he thankfully agrees that the meds are working! The bad news is that he wants me there for at least another day. Because I have insurance, (a rarity, it would seem) he would then move me to a new hospital for more IV antibiotics. We're talking three or four days more in the hospital. A fate that I'm not exactly happy to be committed to.
I doze, and am woken up by Ninja-Nurse R.J. I swear some transporter beam phased him into the room. He appears by my bed more silent than a mouse. To top it off, his scrubs are black with a black japanese cap. Because of the non-surgeriness of my day, he can get me food. Food, glorious food! Even hospital food is good after a full day of not eating.
And then the boredom. A whole day of sitting in my room, or shuffling down the hall to another room with a better view, and doing nothing. Fun you say? No. Intensely boring. Even while reading about Capote's early career and rise to fame (but not fortune).
It's by this time that I notice I smell really bad. I haven't had a shower. My hair is greasy. My skin is oily. I feel intensely gross. And even I notice the smell. I can only imagine what others think...
My roommate gets to leave that day. Good for him! He's a nice guy and wishes me well. I do the same. He's replaced later in the day with a guy who's retching the entire time he's awake. He's in a very, very bad way. They are giving him Dilaudid for his pain, and several different drugs for his nausea. They don't work very well, since he's in constant pain, and constantly nauseous when he's awake.
I think I actually get a couple of hours of sleep during the night. At least there is a time when I blacked out before Nurse Delia came to draw more blood. Noticing that my IV is swollen, she preps me for another IV. And also a blood draw. Oh! how I hate needles! I'm sweating from the nervousness. I notice that my stench increases. It's this sickening sweet smell. Maybe some kind of defense mechanism? My evolution must be completely fucked up.
The next morning - July 4th -, I find out that I get to go home! Yay! Seemingly the whole hand surgery team comes in to look at my finger. The boss of the team, who is so obviously the alpha male of the four, does a very macho viewing of my hand (he even touches me without gloves, he's so macho). I can move it without intense pain, and the swelling is almost entirely gone.
Five hours later, I'm checked out of the hospital with meds in hand.
SFGH has few signs to help you understand things like where does one park? Where is the urgent care place? How do I not get shivved? So after asking an information human, I find a rather dank building with poor lighting and the urgent care within. The triage nurse is chatty, and we strike up a conversation about cats and their bitiness. The waiting room is full, and the TV is showing one of the Harry Potter movies with spanish subtitles. I read about Capote's shitty childhood.
I'm eventually shuffled back to a room to await the nurse practitioner. She tries to shoo me off with some simple antibiotics. I would be happy with that, but danged if it doesn't look like there are red marks going up my arm. "Hmm, this might involve you going to the ER." Um... Yeah, she calls them and they're all, "Send his ass over here!"
Anyone who doesn't think that our healthcare system in this country is in crisis should visit the ER of a major hospital. It's kind of a nightmare. Packed with people, most of them have had to let their ailments get so far along because they lack health insurance that they're in serious trouble now. Tonight, we're being serenaded by a schizophrenic guy in a wheelchair, who has one foot, no teeth, and keeps screaming and hitting himself. Another guy, who seems to have rolled around in dirt before coming to the hospital. Several children, with frightened parents (and some with parents who don't really care about them). There's also a guy who sits next to me, and starts muttering under his breath about god knows what, but it's apparent that it's directed at me. I play a ruse where I get up, wait for him to move, and then sit back down and place my bag in the seat next to me.
A few short hours later, I'm whisked to the room where doctors hide out from the public. My doctor is the improbably-named Dr. Salmon. In a hospital comedy-drama, she would be the smart, capable female doctor, who is very knowledgable but doesn't have a great bedside manner, and thus is shunned by the rest of the doctors, until they realize that she has a rich inner life. I'm to be given intravenous antibiotics to fight this infection...
...eventually...
Things at the hospital happen at a glacial pace. It's midnight before I get the IV. They're keeping me overnight, because they may have to operate in the morning to drain the infection. See, the worry is that the infection might get into the "sheath" that contains the ligament, thus rendering my finger useless. I'm double plus unhappy about this. They take me to my temporary lodgings: room 518A. If I go outside of the doors of 5A, I'll be declared AWOL and "discharged" from the hospital. So, those big doors? Avoid!
My roommate is an older man, who is having real troubles with his bowels. He has apparently had cancer before. This may be related. I read about Capote's adolescence.
Sleeping in a hospital turns out to be a cruel joke. Every time I would get near sleep, Nurse Delia would materialize next to me bed to give me more antibiotics, or to take my vital signs ("Only if you give them back!" is the witty quip from Mr. Wendling), or to remove some of my precious blood. The other times, I would hear my roommate's TV (which was on low volume, but enough to wake me up). I give up around 5:30AM, and just read more about Capote's adolescence.
Oh, and because I'm scheduled for surgery, I'm not given any food or water. I haven't eaten since noon on Saturday. The good news, though, is that the swelling has gone way down. Dr. Seib, the finger expert from the night crew at ER, looks at it and says that maybe they won't need to operate. PLEASE LET THIS BE SO! She wants her boss to check it out. And he thankfully agrees that the meds are working! The bad news is that he wants me there for at least another day. Because I have insurance, (a rarity, it would seem) he would then move me to a new hospital for more IV antibiotics. We're talking three or four days more in the hospital. A fate that I'm not exactly happy to be committed to.
I doze, and am woken up by Ninja-Nurse R.J. I swear some transporter beam phased him into the room. He appears by my bed more silent than a mouse. To top it off, his scrubs are black with a black japanese cap. Because of the non-surgeriness of my day, he can get me food. Food, glorious food! Even hospital food is good after a full day of not eating.
And then the boredom. A whole day of sitting in my room, or shuffling down the hall to another room with a better view, and doing nothing. Fun you say? No. Intensely boring. Even while reading about Capote's early career and rise to fame (but not fortune).
It's by this time that I notice I smell really bad. I haven't had a shower. My hair is greasy. My skin is oily. I feel intensely gross. And even I notice the smell. I can only imagine what others think...
My roommate gets to leave that day. Good for him! He's a nice guy and wishes me well. I do the same. He's replaced later in the day with a guy who's retching the entire time he's awake. He's in a very, very bad way. They are giving him Dilaudid for his pain, and several different drugs for his nausea. They don't work very well, since he's in constant pain, and constantly nauseous when he's awake.
I think I actually get a couple of hours of sleep during the night. At least there is a time when I blacked out before Nurse Delia came to draw more blood. Noticing that my IV is swollen, she preps me for another IV. And also a blood draw. Oh! how I hate needles! I'm sweating from the nervousness. I notice that my stench increases. It's this sickening sweet smell. Maybe some kind of defense mechanism? My evolution must be completely fucked up.
The next morning - July 4th -, I find out that I get to go home! Yay! Seemingly the whole hand surgery team comes in to look at my finger. The boss of the team, who is so obviously the alpha male of the four, does a very macho viewing of my hand (he even touches me without gloves, he's so macho). I can move it without intense pain, and the swelling is almost entirely gone.
Five hours later, I'm checked out of the hospital with meds in hand.