Fun in the Tucson E.R.

Don't worry, I'm fine... but my friend Greg was really sick today and called me early this evening to take him to the hospital.



Having never been to an E.R. (except for one lone visit when I was five years old and accidentaly fell head-first on our linoleum floor while wrestling with my dad and brother... I suffered a concussion), or at least not having any memory of an E.R., I thought it would be an interesting adventure. Of course, my first concern was my friend Greg's health, but I have to admit that I also had a bit of curiosity about seeing the TV show put into reality.

Although I was out walking on campus (for exercise, you know) when Greg called for assistance, I told him I'd be over to pick him up in 15 minutes. Hello, underestimation. As I tried to pick up the pace after realizing that I was far more than a 15 minute walk from my car, I imagined this gravely ill person was probably looking at his watch, waiting for the Grim Reaper, while I was dilly-dallying my way home from my "speed walk." Finally arriving at his house about 25 minutes later, I peeked with a certain amount of fear through his screen door, expecting to find a limp, pale lifeless form collapsed in a heap, but luckily I discovered him alive and talking to his mother on his cell phone.


I can only imagine the guilt that would stay with me forever.
(I love that someone has copyrighted the photo of this pasty hand)

Once we got to the E.R., I discovered that it was not nearly as interesting as I'd imagined. In fact, it was downright awful. The waiting room was grey and an orange-tinted maroon with chairs upholstered in some sort of floral fabric I can only imagine my grandmother might have found attractive in 1930. Greg went in to the "patient" area for some sort of diagnostics, and I attempted to read a book on Algerian fundamentalism. However, I found it hard to concentrate when there were six screaming babies surrounding me. The entire waiting area was full of worried young parents, with a handful of scabby old people milling about. In fact, I only saw one ambulance arrival, and on the stretcher was a middle-aged woman wearing Isotoner slippers, who I later saw walking around like a champion.


The slippers were of this style.

After three hours, Greg told me to go home, and I wasn't going to argue. He appeared to be feeling better, and the nurse said he would have to wait in the "patient area" (where I was not located) at least another hour just to see a doctor. While I felt bad leaving him there amidst the wailing infants, I didn't really see the purpose of staring around the waiting room any longer, serving no purpose, as my economics paper lingered in its unwritten state.

So what I really wanted to know was: Where were the defibrulating EMTs? Where were the "code blues"? And, where, for the love of god, was Dr. Doug Ross?


Now, this is the kind of action I was hoping for...