Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The Lordeth loves you like meeth!
A wacky trip to the E.R., this time ME!
The only times I have been to the Emergency Room was with the girls if one of them spiked a fever around 105.
There were a few exceptions with my older son, but that's a different story and of course the few exceptions concerning me when I thought some hippy dugged me. This I will snapshot.
On a trip to Palm Springs with a BF when I was in my 20's, on our return, I thought this hippy-type guy who was stuck in the 60's, and worked at a 7-11 put purple haze in my coffee. Maybe because I was seeing more than mirages, like dinosaurs and giant moon pies. This terrified me into a state of such anxiety, thus thought I was tripping; and as it turns out it was a severe panic attack. But that was 20 years ago.
So, the other night, after 3 days of feeling so weak I could barely read the tabs, get out of bed and then thought my heart had stopped, not to mention my back had gone out, this a result of carrying twins to beyond term (but that’s a different story,) I thought I had better drive to the E.R.
How I got the energy to do this is beyond me, but hope was in sight, and that alone was enough.
When I pulled into the parking lot, in an attempt to straighten my car to keep it neatly between the white lines because I have a mild case of OCD no matter how sick I am, suddenly, an enormous gold Cadillac taps the front of my car. I really thought nothing of it, because I already knew I would have the scrape and this person would not. I have THAT kind of car. Honestly, a class of cola sitting on the fender would cause major damage.
Anyway, 4 seconds later, a rather large, okay, super-sized woman gets out of her car, replete in a moo-moo that's riding up to her ass and hair I can only describe as, “how could she leave the house like that!?" starts screaming at me about her back pain! Note here, she hit me, maybe going 1 mile an hour in basically a tank. But no matter, she was going to sue me, then she cursed me to hell!
I was so sick I really had no time for this person and wondered if she was just released from the psych ward.
“What the hell is wrong with you girl!? Now I’ve got the back pain! Do you know how much that shit costs?”
A seasoned driver, I knew even in a much worse “fender-bender” no one can feel any “pain” for at least two days. But, whatever. This lady had the sue-thing going on. Not uncommon in LA.
“Jesus loves me! Not the likes of you!” she went on. Jesus? What does he have to do with this?
She quickly jotted down my license plate and kept on ranting Corinthians from what I am presuming the Bible. Here, I couldn’t tell you if it was the Old or New version, having never read either. Meanwhile, I’m ready to vomit and coupled with my own back pain, I may have said, “ Go fuck yourself and your Jesus.” I have nothing against Jesus,from everything I’ve read, he seemed like a pretty interesting guy; a cute carpenter, anarchist who stood up for prostitutes and fought the corrupt political system. What’s not to love? Now that's a last supper I would enjoy.
As I was limping away, a skinny, old man approached her, (husband?) He inspected her car like a germaphobe mother might inspect her kid's head for lice. He saw there was no damage, yet there was a scrape on my car.
“Do what you need to do.” He tells her. WTF?
“And you didn’t even say you was sorry!” She was still ranting. Honestly, these hypocritical Jesus people.
“Jesus died for your sins! Not mine!” she continued. The man was escorting her back to her car. Now she is limping like I struck her with a steel bat. I don’t mean to be mean, but she was so big, in that 250 to 300 pound way where it’s hard to tell where she might be hiding that back. And with all the cushion! Please.
On top of why I came here in the first place, I am now reasonably upset as I don’t like being bullied, no matter the circumstances. Plus how does she know Jesus doesn’t love me. Fuck her.
The waiting room. Of course it’s packed. There is a man in front of me, his arm dripping blood like a bad B movie. Next to him is his wife claiming to sue the hospital if they don’t see him right now. She was screaming and ranting also.
“If he bleeds to death on your floor, you know you’ll be looking at a hefty lawsuit. I will shut this place down so fast your heads will spin!” What was with all the people? Again, it is Los Angeles.
Years ago, a young boy, say, 8, ran across my street and was hit by a brand new Mercedes. Then suddenly, his parents seem to appear out of nowhere screaming lawsuits! He could have been killed. So, were they waiting for an expensive care to drive by before pushing him in the street? I took him into my house, a couple of bruises, then glared at his parents. “This is not 911. It’s a cold pack." The poor, oldish women in the Mercedes (who was going under the speed limit) was torn apart. But I digress.
I felt bad for the man as the cut was actually pretty minor. But felt worse for his young son, witnessing all of this and his nutty mother. His father kept leaning over and kissing him on the forehead.
“You don’t seem to understand! We have in-sur-ance!” and good kind too. Medicare!”
They took me right away and I was whisked off into a quiet, lovely room by the most kind nurse I had seen since the birth of the twins.
I tell her all my ailments; the list seemed endless. Yet somehow the conversation shifted to poker!
“Where do you play?” I just couldn’t resist.
Well, that is all it took. After hearing that this poor woman lost 300 dollars with 3 aces got me pretty upset; so I gave her some solid poker tips since I have been playing the game more than 20 years; and as mentioned, it paid my way though college.
Her assistant nurse enters, apparently also an avid player, and was instructed by her boss to take notes, which she did.
Finally the doctor comes in. Young, cute, frankly datable. We talk, he’s kind and gentle and then shoots me up with antibiotics and a shot for my back. It reduced the pain and I felt better. Then I hear:
“Where’s my hundred dollar bill!”
I snuck a peek as he was just outside my room.
A rather pathetic looking guy, filthy, matted hair, lying on a gurney, slurring nonsense about this hundred dollar bill, despite being told countless times he never had one.
His nurse: “Now remember, when you drink, stay home and don’t go out driving. Just drink and, say watch House or Family Guy."
Shortly thereafter I hear “Georgie? Is that you? Georgie?” This from some old man on a gurney a few feet from the drunk, clearly ready to drop dead.
COLD BLUE CODE BLUE. Lots of commotion out there. So was he already seeing Georgie before he died?
“Is it always like this, doctor?” If I wasn't married I would have slipped him my number. Not that it didn't cross my mind anyway.
The cute doctor gave me some Motrin and told me if I don’t feel better and say, start peeing blood, come straight back. Well, okay. If I ever pee blood, which will be never, this is not where I will return.
Finally back at my car, just before settling into my seat, I see a note on the windshield. Now, a couple things. It’s barely legible and written on a rose patterned piece of stationary one might find in a Motel 6. (Do they still exist?) On it, was the face of Jesus as a kind of back drop.
I throw it in the driver’s seat and when stopping for gas, I read the damn thing.
“Girl. Jesus loves you!!!! Sorry for earlier comment. He is not out to get you.” Huh, who said he was? It goes on. "The Lordeth is always hereth. He saved meeth." Then, something about born-agains. It was a long note, one I wasn’t interested in finishing, but did notice, it was dated 10/8/08. Now, the date is 9/20/09! Does she just carry these around and hand them out willy-nilly without changing the date?
I finally got home and tell my husband the whole kerfuffle. “I feel a story coming on… but I’m glad you’re okay.”