Note to self: When in dire need, never, under any circumstances, go to the hospital.
Like most good college stories, this one begins a little after the clock struck midnight. I was in my room, taking apart my Nerf gun (modifying the Longshot-6 Sniper into a real sniper) with my friend, Mitchell. The gun comes in two parts and I was cutting one part to supe it up to give it to him.
Then, as fate had it, I cut my hand.
I very accurately tell people that it looked like it was from the movie 300. Blood fountained from my finger and it took all I had to not get any on the floor getting to the bathroom across the hall. It was there I found Dan brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed. He whistled at the blood I was putting into the sink and I told him that it really didn't hurt that bad. And it didn't --I felt next to nothing unless the water pushed away the raw skin.
I looked down and it looked like hell. For the first time in my life I saw my own bone tissue. I looked away and kept running under the sink, but every five or ten seconds that vision pulsed back to me: that spongey matter, that blood coming from nowhere, that exposed bone.
Dan seemed to pick up on how I was starting to feel, full seconds before I mentioned it to him. I sat on my bed and watched the world fade in and out, cursing and focusing to not "go." I was clutching my hand so tightly to stop the circulation that my other hand was cramping. Mitchell ran up to his room to get some supplies and Dan got a rubber band I asked him for.
Push comes to shove, I was in our hallway and an R.A. I had never met before was looking at my hand. Adrenaline seeped into my stomach and it lurched just thinking about what my purple finger looked like. I had to sit down and the R.A. called for campus police to take us to the hospital. Looked like I might need stitches, he said.
Then Bri called. I must have had that starry-eyed look wounded soldiers get when the nurse comes around. I wish I hadn't told her I was going to the hospital since it worried her so much, but I promised to call her when I got back.
Then, a twenty minute wait for the official ride to come. It was nice waiting there. I'm an Eagle Scout, and Dan and I later found out the R.A. were too, and Mitchell was a Life, one rank away. I felt in good hands.
The driver was late but he was so cool Mitchell wrote him a positive comment in the hospital suggestion box. We sat around for a while and a nurse gave me some things and told me to check in. The check in girl was nice enough and made it painless.
But then we sat there for about forty-five minutes to an hour, just watching other people go into the main hospital area. Bri called again, assuming we were out, but no, I hadn't been seen yet. I renewed my promise that I would call her when I got out. Other than that, we spent most of the time in the waiting room swapping stories until the nurse called me back.
I would've never known it was 2:15, I felt so awake and relieved to finally get things under way. The nurse was forthright about it all; she told me to sit on a gurney while she got things ready to look at me. I smiled and swung my feet appreciatively.
I texted Dan in the waiting room to get a cruiser ready to pick us up. Twenty minutes later, I texted him to scratch that idea. I had to hold my phone at arm's length above my head for a couple minutes to collect enough service to send a text. Twenty minutes after that, I got two messages from Dan saying a cop was on her way in fifteen minutes, then a more recent one saying she had some business and wouldn't be there for another half-hour. I went to text him back and say to call it off, but lo and behold, no more service.
All the while I sat there on a gurney, just chillin'. A myriad of thoughts came to my mind. Good God, they're getting the operating room ready. I'm finally getting my first stitches! How I'd kill for one bar of service, one call: to Dan, to Mitchell, to Bri, anybody.
Very slowly, everything began to become irritating. I was starting to get a migraine from the incessant beeping of random hospital equipment; I caught myself muttering to myself when the nurses would talk to each other:
"I'm glad only another hour for the graveyard shift. I just want to get out of here."
I hear ya.
"A lot of teenagers tonight, wonder why? It's Homecoming weekend, I guess."
Yes, and it's Athens, Ohio. Let's be honest here.
"Aww, Jim looks tired. You should go off the clock early and get your rest."
Yeah?
One snippet that I caught was the nurses talking about patient statuses. A girl, they said, was finally coming to from alcohol poisoning. I'd later learn that she lived very close to me and I'd seen her countless times before. I saw her but didn't recognize her on her own gurney. She was a lot worse off than I was, and it was these little bytes of sympathy that really kept me sane.
Then the nurses at the desk mentioned a "young man with a laceration on his hand." I, never one to be pushy, contemplated and chose not to say anything in case there was somebody else with a real problem with their hand. I could swear I heard something like, "Yeah, Connie got 'im."
Not soon after --I'd say around 3:15 or so-- Mitchell came in with a policewoman. He asked about me and I hollered from around the corner that I was still there, still chillin'. Without waiting for any pretense, I marched up to the desk and asked if I could just go. "Nuh-huh," the policewoman said, "You're not going anywhere until you've had clearance."
So I turned to the closest nurse and said in the most curt I've been in months that all I need was peroxide. She looked at my like peroxide was an old wife's tale and said she'd get around to me shortly. When we were finally coming home, Mitchell said I looked pissed.
I took back my well-worn place on the gurney and she brought a sponge in a packet and let it sit there for about twenty more minutes. Fermenting, I have no idea. I offered to take it out and help her speed things along, but she gave me another hospital minute. The doctor came and tried to smooth everything over with friendliness, but I had to repeat myself when he asked what happened I was grumbling so much.
The nurse scrubbed my hand and rinsed it with come equivalent of peroxide. Minus the neosporin that you can't see, this is what two-plus hours at the hospital showed for itself:
Uh-huh.
I laughed. I was derisive about it, openly. I went back into the waiting room and poor Dan got a kick out of it. When Mitchell got out of the bathroom, he was speechless. They asked about stitches but nope, no stitches.
The cop that was supposed to take us back had a call so another one who just happened to be there gave us a lift. Nice guy; my only complaints were the seats weren't comfortable and he wouldn't let me sit shotgun since there was no room.
I got back and finally met up with my roommate Van. By the sounds of it, he had just as an enthralling night as I did.
Current time: 4:30 a.m.
Sunday September 28, 2008
