Dispatches From the Hospital: Emergency Room Picnic

Eight days ago, Schmoop walked me over to the Emergency Room of the hospital across the street from us in order for me to be treated for my burgeoning pulmonary infection.

I was checked-in at the ER desk and oddly and fortunately enough, I was admitted to an ER bed within 15-20 minutes.

I was placed under the care of an incredibly cute Jennifer Love Hewitt looking nurse, and a Doctor of non-descript name, nebulous ethnicity, and shadowy credentials.

After having blood drawn, an IV inserted, my clothes removed, and a vitals monitor attached to me, by the uber-sweet and lovely RN nurse, I was then given an X-Ray, a Flu swab, some kick ass pain killer, a CT Scan, and two ultra sounds.

During my in and outs of getting these procedures done, a sick guy, accompanied by his wife/old lady/drinking and meth partner (who we’ll call Candy) was placed into the ER cubicle next to mine.

He was in pain and was audibly moaning due to a malt liquor induced flare up of pancreatitis. The dude was hurting.

Anyhoo…After he was placed on the bed and initially looked over by the Doc and the nurse, Candy decided that she was hungry.

She left and shortly came back with a bowl of chili, a sleeve of Saltines, and a Big Slam Mountain Dew.

Through my quasi-coherent, dilaudid induced state, his moaning dissipated, and all that Schmoop or I could hear, was the slurping of chili, the crunch of crackers, and the post-intake belching of Mountain Dew.

Candy, who was not large, was packing her victuals away with rapidity and avarice. And…what is lunch in the ER without an afternoon matinee? She flipped on the TV and began to watch, He’s Just Not That Into You.

She began commenting on the players while her mouth was stuffed with chili and crackers.

Although I couldn’t see them, I could picture the chili colored cracker pieces shooting from her pie hole onto the face of her moaning boyfriend lying helpless on the bed.

The doctor came back to check on the guy, at which time Candy left yet again and returned bearing gastronomical goodies such as a Hershey Bar, some kind of juice, and a bag of Cheetos. The feasting and the movie critiquing continued.

The guy? He continued to lay there uttering his discomfort in much the same way Peter Boyle did when Gene Hackman poured hot soup onto his crotch in the movie, Young Frankenstein.

Funny thing about the sound of the Cheetos…I never heard the bag rumple. I only heard a continuous, unabated crunching noise. It was as if this chick was a saber tooth tiger gnawing on one huge ass Pleistocene period Cheeto!!

She stated, after her secondary feast, that she had to go to the bathroom. He moaned, “whatever”. While she was gone, the guy was administered pain relief and after medical advice was told that he was free to go.

Upon her return, she came bearing more gifts. She said to him…”I brought you some soup, and I got myself on of these dinners.”

He painfully mumbled, “They told me I can leave now.” And Candy responded…

“Well hold on. I’ll eat my dinner real quick. The movie is almost over anyway. We’ll take your soup home.”

Upon hearing this, I looked at Schmoop. She was looking down at the floor and shaking her head in disbelief.

It was at this point that my selflessness once again reared its magnanimous head, for I thought to myself…

I don’t care how much pain and discomfort I may endure over the coming days, it will never rival the pain that Pancreas Boy will be suffering over his coming days. Be he in good health or poor.

Cheers!!