The ER: Now with only 2 hours waiting time!

When I was 18, I had severe abdominal cramps late one evening. I thought perhaps it was a mild flu and allowed the nausea to overtake me, as that sometimes makes the symptoms ease. However, they only became worse, to the point where I felt as though there was a literal bonfire in my stomach. I attempted to douse myself in cool water but nearly blacked out while climbing the stairs. It was then that I awoke my father and announced that I needed to visit the ER.

As I arrived, it was obvious that I was in some peril, so they tended to me immediately. I was shocked to discover that my temperature was 94.4 F, which is obscene. I wasn't running a fever at all; I was hypothermic. They gave me a dose of thick, white liquid to settle my stomach, the most powerful they had, I was told. Within ten minutes, I'd vomited it back up and the belly-fire intensified.

At this point, they called my primary physician, a pediatrician, for consultation. It was 3AM and he was presumably awakened from sleep. After hearing that I was in serious condition, he told the hospital staff that I'd recently turned 18 and was no longer a minor. His responsibility toward me was complete and I should be tended to by a resident. That fucker dropped me during an emergency.

At this point, it's worth mentioning that an elderly woman had also come into the ER with nearly identical symptoms. They did some X-rays and determined that she had acute gallstones which would require emergency surgery. As my symptoms were so similar, they concluded that we both had the same problem and they began to prep me for surgery - the surgeon would be performing a double-gallectomy.

As disoriented as I was, I knew those retards were out of their mind. I'd never had any gall bladder related issues before, so assuming that was the cause was highly negligent. I remembered that a specialist I'd been regularly seeing for years ran his own general practice on the side. I had the staff call Dr. McMahon and he quickly understood my situation. He arranged for my transfer to a more competent hospital where he'd oversee my care personally.

I was taken to the next county, given some intravenous antibiotics and fluids, and made to rest. Within twelve hours, I felt transformed. I was given a lunch tray and consumed the contents without any pain at all. All I needed was supervision and time - the illness had to pass on its own.

I was later informed that the lab cultures revealed I'd been suffering from an acute case of food poisoning, E. Coli to be precise. It made sense; I'd been offered free sausage pizza at a club function at college the previous day. It's very possible that the sausage was undercooked. I investigated and several others who'd eaten the pizza also experienced considerable pain.

But those morons at the local ER were going to remove my gall bladder with no more justification than having the same generic symptoms as someone else. Since then, if it didn't involve stitches, I've avoided that ER as much as possible.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

I have another horror story, but it's more amusing than intimidating.

In 1999, I had a very bad period of illness and suffered considerable weight loss as a result. My doctor recommended that I get a "G-tube", or gastronomy feeding tube, inserted into my abdomen to facilitate extra nutrition while I slept. I went through with it and wound up with a hole in my external abdomen, around 1/2 inch in diameter.

In this hole, the tube was placed. Or, the access port, anyhow. However, the lifespan of each port is limited because part of it is always coming into contact with stomach acid. The tube is kept in place by a "back-balloon" that is inflated with saline. At full inflation, the port cannot escape the hole. But when the acid eats through the balloon, the entire device can fall out freely. This is bad, as the abdominal wall is nothing but muscle and the hole will contract and seal itself off within several hours if it's not kept open. When this happens, a trip to the ER is needed, where a new port is put into place.

One night, the back-balloon burst and the port fell onto the ground unexpectedly. It hit something and part of it broke off, making it unsafe to insert as a "stopgap" until a new port was acquired. Because I had to keep the hole open, I snapped an unused chopstick in half and pushed it through the hole. (This doesn't hurt.) I then went to the ER with my mother.

This isn't a high priority matter, so the ER staff usually had me sit around for a bit. Sometimes it could be a couple hours. I always brought my Gameboy. However, one time, I noticed a very large, tattooed man looking me up and down. I tried to ignore it but he kept staring. Finally, he spoke:

"Hey, why you in here? You look just fine."

I was really, really bored, so I decided to toy with the man.

"I was in a fight and got injured."

"Huh. My kid got shot in the leg. It ain't too bad but maybe it'll put some sense into his head. What kind of fight was it?"

"Oh, it was at one of those Chinese buffets. You know, the all-you-can-eat ones? I found some nasty hairs in the soup and complained. The manager didn't like it too much and he got pretty pushy."

"You look okay."

"No, he got me pretty good. Picked up a chopstick and stabbed me in the gut. I cleaned up the blood but it's in there solid. Here, let me show you."

I lifted my sweater and proudly displayed the chopstick keeping the G-tube hole open. The dude's face went ghost white and he sat straight up in his chair.

"THAT is some hardcore shit.", he said.

I laughed for a few moments and confessed to the truth. He admitted that it was a great story and that he never expected to see the chopstick poking out of my abdomen. He thought maybe I was one of those David Blaine type street magicians.

Half an hour later, I was fitted with a new port and was on my way home.

(I no longer have this device, as the need for it was gone by 2004. However, the hole still remains and it resembles a rather shocking bullet wound. It's completely sealed off, so it doesn't cause me any issue. I like to tell the unknowing that it's an injury from a long-settled turf war.)

There's nowhere I can't reach.