A special treat today, a blog entry where I don’t make fun of yuppies, but I complain about just about everything else under the sun. Are you on board? I’ll be gentle. I promise.
Its been a rough couple of weeks. Depression has been kicking my ass in a big way. So big, in fact, that a week ago Wednesday, I decided to check myself into the hospital. I had tried going it alone– exercising, getting out of the house, going to my art class, going to my one support group, calling crisis help lines, but nothing had been working. Not even chocolate fercrissakes!
So with much trepidation, I slogged up to our local hospital, which has a mental health wing and checked into the emergency room. At the time I was going through my second round of a really bad case of Sinusitus. I had just had it two weeks before, taken 10 days of Antibiotics and then – WANGO! Sinusitis again! Must have been those 49,000 germy drunk Irish people at the parade.
When I got in the first level of the ER the guy asked me if I wanted to go through what they call the FAST Track (remember the word FAST, its important to this story) to have my sinus problem looked at. My mom had been yelling at me to get some more antibiotics, because she didn’t want me to “ruin” Easter by being sick. She was also going into the hospital herself the next day and wanted me available for daughterly services. So I said yes. This was around 2:45 p.m.
I went back to the waiting room, where at least there was a TV and candy machine and waited for about a half hour. They finally brought me into a little cubical where I was looked at by Dr. Jason Priestly of 90210. Yes! It was him! I swear! The Jason Priestly from the early 1990’s. I mean, how cool is it for Jason Priestly of 90210 to press your naked stomach. I did laugh when he asked if there was any possibility that I was pregnant. So many one liners wanting to escape, but so little time especially since I haven’t had the red menace in over a year now. Its nice though that somebody thinks I’m still viable. Thanks Dr. Jason Priestly of 90210. 🙂
And then came the hospital vampire crew, taking at least 5 vials of blood to make sure I didn’t have Uglygirlcitis. And then…nothing. At like 7 p.m. I finally called a nurse. I hadn’t eaten since 10 a.m. I was starving. So like an hour later she finally brought me a squished half frozen roast beef sandwich and a tiny glass of ginger ale. Hey I almost felt like I was at Quiznos!
Suddenly some bratty kid blew in through my curtains. By now I was taking sheets of paper out of a bin and drawing on them. You know, just your usual self pitying depression fare….
Can you tell that I was frustrated and that the bratty kid was traveling in dangerous territory, especially when the mom let him loose again and he ran directly back in AGAIN and screamed directly in my face and then coughed on me. I did keep my cool though. Mainly because I was so sick. Good thing, you little bastard. You would have needed stitches too.
Anyways, its nearly 8:45 before this older tall doctor came in. Come to find out, Dr. Jason Priestly 90210 was just an intern and this was the “real” doctor. By then I was standing up, pacing around. There’s only so many things you can draw in an ER cubical.
I guess he introduced himself. I was too sick to remember. Nobody ever gave me anything to relieve my symptoms. Way to go ER personnel! Anyways, he walks up to me, pressed his body firmly against my arm, puts his one hand on my back and then took the stethoscope and instead of holding it in his fingertips like most doctors do, he cupped his whole hand over my entire right breast (i.e., I think they call that “copping a feel”) and probably got an inaccurate reading since he was feeling my boob. I mean WTF? I always have trouble dealing with pervs at the moment of impact. I just sort of watch them in slow motion, make note and then angst about it later.
Our little conversation that followed wasn’t much better. He told me my blood sugar was a little elevated, probably because “I was such a sweet girl” (huh?? WTF??). I tried to veer the subject back to reality, like something medical and told him that when I was 30 pounds heavier I had had diabetic symptoms and had taken diabetes medication. And then he sort of stands up tall and pats his abs and says, “Yup, I could stand to lose 30 pounds!” The guy was thin, folks. He was just fishing for me to say he was fine or in good shape. Evidently he thought we were at some BBQ at the country club and it was OK to flirt with the woman whose breast he had just felt up. He then announced the need for x-rays for my sinuses. WHAT-T-T-T?
I KNOW AND YOU KNOW AND WE BOTH KNOW I HAVE SINUSITIS, JUST GIVE ME THE FUCKING ANTIBIOTICS!!
I didn’t say that of course. I’m a wuss. I just stood there in disbelief. I had been there now, for 6 1/2 hours…for a fucking stuffed nostril and severe headache. And the real purpose for my visit…my mental health issues were getting less and less important. I also knew if I went over to the mental health wing it would be at least another 6-7 hours, before getting any help and I was just too exhausted.
I did sit in the cubical from hell for like another 45 minutes. I finally just couldn’t take it anymore and put on my coat and walked out into the hallway. I told the guy at a computer I was leaving, because I was tired of waiting…for nothing. He said, “Are you feeling better?” And I actually managed to get off one good zinger. I said, “Believe it or not, your room didn’t have any magical healing qualities.”
He calmed me down and then said the magical words I had been wanting to hear for hours: “I can have you out of here in 5 minutes.” Why didn’t they say that like 7 hours ago?? He asked me if I still wanted to go over to the mental health wing and I said I was just too tired. I also felt anxious about the Drive-By Boob Grab and didn’t really trust whoever else I might possibly come in contact with at this place.
I was finally sprung a little before 10 pm. Fortunately they have valet service up to your car, although I did get to see a bloodied stab victim fall out of a car as I was waiting. Woo hoo!
When I got home “L” the Hippie Chick called. It was Art Class night and I usually drive her to class, but my phone had just rung and rung and she was worried about me. She said I can call her anytime I want. And this week, several people in my art class asked if I was alright. I finally saw “A” this week too, after a month. He’s going to try and get me services at my old place again. I hope so. I really need some support in real life.