Day 838, October 18, 2022

 Scenes of Mortality in the Emergency Room

A woman brought in on a gurney, 
her neck secured in an elaborate plastic brace, 
like she might have been an African queen once. 

The old woman in a wheel chair, 
accompanied by the younger woman. 
It looks like we will be here all day, 
the younger woman says. 

I am festooned with electrodes 
that are connected to wires that etch a waveform on a piece of paper, 
and then the wires are removed, 
but the electrodes remain 
and I will remove some of them later that night when I go to bed. 

The x-ray technician wheels me to the x-ray room 
even though I tell her I can walk. 
I don’t protest though, 
and submit to the ride. 

Inhale and hold, she says. 
And then, Breathe! 
She yells from the other room. 

The phlebotomist works from a mobile station 
and he is like a juggler, 
a man with magic tricks, 
how he handles needle, vials, tape, and cotton. 
My blood looks surprisingly dark and gritty. 
He holds a vial to the light to make sure he drew enough. 

Throughout my visit, 
they use my old married name and I correct them, 
but it seems futile. 
What does it matter who I am anyway? 
I am discharged and by the time I pass the workstation, 
I am forgotten. 
There are other patients, 
another gurney, 
someone else’s vitals.

(I’m ok. Had chest pain/congestion, but it may just be a tweaked back. Just had it checked out to be safe.)

Dry Hill Cemetery, filled with tombstones dating from the 1800s.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Day 1003, March 13, 2023

Day 999, March 9, 2023

Day 998, March 8, 2023