Blood Roses and Me
So this is the story of getting a tablet, valentines day, and the new patchwork mitten I call my right hand. It starts one thursday night, two days before valentines day. My girlfriend had a paper to write and I was going to do the dishes, clean the bathroom and make dinner, all before she was done. Sadly after putting my hand though a wonderful pyrex cup from the London Museum of Modern Art our evening took on a more hurried pace.
I tried to stop the bleeding from the pog-sized skin flap on my knuckle. Meanwhile my girlfriend, very concerned, tried to do whatever she could to help me. Thankfully this included not fainting. We resolved that we should go to the hospital and see if they knew more about these things than we did.
We got a ride from my old roommate who was studying for a midterm on the other side of town. He was a good sport about it. He and I had been to the hospital a while ago when I had some strange chest pains, only that time I didn’t want to bother anyone and took the bus. This time we rode in style, a Chevy S10 with bass and deer decals blaring soothing classic rock.
After the obligatory ‘are you here to see a doctor?’, which I was too much in shock to have a snappy answer to, we waited for about 3 hours before treatment. In the meantime we saw a kidney stone case who was about 27 and lived with his mom. We saw a number of pregnancy scare candidates. We saw a man hitting on the pregnancy scare candidates who had no ailments nor desire to see a doctor. I wonder if anyone told him picking up in the hospital is not such a great idea on a thursday night.
We made it in to see said doctor before the kidney stone man but after a few of the people who had no signs of trauma. Let’s call them fakers for now. The exact formula that changes your wait time may be more complex than bistro-matics. It requires time spent in waiting room, visible signs of grief, belligerence, exposure of breasts, oldness, seemliness, likelihood of lawsuit, and general empathy of the staff for variables. The outcome is usually thrown away and you can just consult your magic 8-ball.
We went from the communal room to the individual waiting room where we examined the shelves for lack of anything better to do. I remarked it would be nice is I had my NDS with me. My girlfriend reminded me I hadn’t the use of all my fingers to use it, and would likely bleed on it till I had a pink NDS. The shelves themselves contained gauze, gloves with the smallest being intuitively set at over 6 feet off the ground. What appeared to be a yogurt cup but filled with sodium chloride (table salt). And a bin of sharps. A sharp is medical speak for needle. I would later have a large gauge sharp threaded through my hand. If there is ever and (number) gauge (anything) applied to me I feel ill, be it a 12 gauge shotgun or a 16 gauge pizza.
The doctor came in after a nurse had a look and redressed my hand. It was good not to have that soggy towel around. Soggy towels are so 1980 and I needed to accessorize with thin cotton. I would later bleed through the cotton. The student doctor was pretty much the most attractive medical student i’ve seen off TV. My girlfriend now thinks I’m gay because I said what I was thinking out loud. He was a little stand offish with the wound however. The staff doctor who came after was not so timid. He got right in there after some wit that would not have been out of place at the 4077 (that’s a M*A*S*H reference if that helps).
Later on we learned some trivia about Portugal, how to do sutures as the medical student learned by doing, and the cost to pay ratio of doctors doing stitches. Turns out they make 14.73 for an under 5 cm laceration. For some reason i thought it was worth a lot more, but then I had a bit of a dire need for some. Also the witty staff doc was a Douglas Adams fan. When a patient in another room tried to break free of their restraints and let out a feral growl he was quick with a “beware of the leopard” quip which put me at ease while he drove a needle through an unfrozen part of my hand.
All in all a good night. We made it home before 2, damn hungry and with our dinner uncooked and drying out in the oven. We had some toast and I fell asleep around 3. But the story doesn’t stop here. This is like the backstory to, and at the same time a prelude to, another story. We haven’t even gotten to the New GhostRunner assets, the Interview, and the torrid Valentines day affair!
Stay tuned for more, coming soon!