(no subject)
8 March 2005 09:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
in_steadBecause my mother yelled at me and because everyone agreed that fainting is bad, I went to the clinic yesterday, and they told me all the things that could have been wrong with me and didn't really seem to believe me when I told him that it would be a fucking miracle if I was pregnant. He referred me to the hospital to get further testing done. But of course they referred me to the hospital that is no where near anywhere I've ever been, so I got lost on the bus on the way there and ended up walking for half an hour after getting off at the wrong stop, which wouldn't have happened if the bus driver hadn't been so mean and rude to me when I asked him where to get off and made me too nervous to ask him again when I was confused.
Then I had to sit for seven hours in the emergency room with the woman who was vomiting compulsively and about twelve people with broken feet and one woman who was slumped in a chair with one of those mask things on her face and who didn't move the entire time I was there. I kept calling my parents but I couldn't get a hold of them and, in between, I finished the book I brought with me. I had also brought my thesis and marking, but couldn't concentrate well enough with the woman vomiting compulsively and all the others, so I didn't get any work done. So I finished my book and went up to the front desk and very politely asked if I had time to run down to the gift shop and buy something else to read and the man behind the desk snapped at me that there was a seven hour wait from the time I was registered, which was written on the big dry-erase board over on the wall, and if I hadn't been waiting for seven hours then I had lots of time left to wait.
I hate rude people and I was starting to get scared thinking about all the things that the doctor at the clinic said could be wrong with me and I just about started to cry, but instead I went and spent this week's grocery money on trashy romances at the gift shop. When I came back, the compulsive vomiter had been taken away and someone had taken my seat, so I tried again to call my parents, and this time I got them, only to have them tell me that they were on their way to Ottawa because they were worried about me and not to bother arguing because they were about an hour out. Then, as I was starting to argue with them, my name was called, so the man behind the desk was wrong about having plenty of time and it was a good thing that there wasn't much of a selection at the gift shop or I would have missed it.
Then they took me into a room and made me take my shirt and bra off and gave me one of those lovely hospital gowns and left me in there for another long period of time (although not seven hours) and I read half of one of the books I bought at the gift shop. Then a woman came in and took my gown away from me, leaving me stripped to the waist, and stuck little heart monitors all over me and checked my heart and performed a bunch of other soft neurological tests like checking my pupils and also needed convincing that I am not pregnant, unless it's with the anti-Christ, because an athiest immaculate conception is not likely to produce the second coming, as it were.
Then the doctor came and told me I was probably fine.
And they let me go.
So.
Then I had to sit for seven hours in the emergency room with the woman who was vomiting compulsively and about twelve people with broken feet and one woman who was slumped in a chair with one of those mask things on her face and who didn't move the entire time I was there. I kept calling my parents but I couldn't get a hold of them and, in between, I finished the book I brought with me. I had also brought my thesis and marking, but couldn't concentrate well enough with the woman vomiting compulsively and all the others, so I didn't get any work done. So I finished my book and went up to the front desk and very politely asked if I had time to run down to the gift shop and buy something else to read and the man behind the desk snapped at me that there was a seven hour wait from the time I was registered, which was written on the big dry-erase board over on the wall, and if I hadn't been waiting for seven hours then I had lots of time left to wait.
I hate rude people and I was starting to get scared thinking about all the things that the doctor at the clinic said could be wrong with me and I just about started to cry, but instead I went and spent this week's grocery money on trashy romances at the gift shop. When I came back, the compulsive vomiter had been taken away and someone had taken my seat, so I tried again to call my parents, and this time I got them, only to have them tell me that they were on their way to Ottawa because they were worried about me and not to bother arguing because they were about an hour out. Then, as I was starting to argue with them, my name was called, so the man behind the desk was wrong about having plenty of time and it was a good thing that there wasn't much of a selection at the gift shop or I would have missed it.
Then they took me into a room and made me take my shirt and bra off and gave me one of those lovely hospital gowns and left me in there for another long period of time (although not seven hours) and I read half of one of the books I bought at the gift shop. Then a woman came in and took my gown away from me, leaving me stripped to the waist, and stuck little heart monitors all over me and checked my heart and performed a bunch of other soft neurological tests like checking my pupils and also needed convincing that I am not pregnant, unless it's with the anti-Christ, because an athiest immaculate conception is not likely to produce the second coming, as it were.
Then the doctor came and told me I was probably fine.
And they let me go.
So.
