A Graphic Train Of Thought

, , , , | Healthy | December 28, 2018

I’m notorious for not really thinking before I speak. Some people like it because they can count on me telling the truth, but others hate the fact that I say inappropriate things sometimes.

This is pertinent when I’m on a national rail service train. I have just spent three hours with my dad in an Urgent Care drop-in centre because a relatively recent piercing I got became infected. My mum isn’t with us as she stayed in London while we went to Nottingham.

She calls me on the train to check how I am after my dad texted her before we were seen by a nurse. I tell her the whole story.

As I’m telling it, I start to notice people around me looking uncomfortable, and one man puts his food away. I realise that I’ve just described, in graphic detail, how there had been clear fluid and blood leaking from my ear, as well as how, when I took the piercing out, I lost my grip on the front of the earring and pulled the 3-mm ball through my piercing, making it bleed all the more. I quickly change tack to a more vanilla version of events.

To all the poor people who shared that train with me, I’m deeply sorry for subjecting you to that and putting you off your food. On the plus side, I caught the infection before it got really bad, so there’ll be no even worse stories for me to horrify strangers with.

He’s Crazy, But Can’t Quite Put His Finger On Why

, , , | Healthy | December 27, 2018

(In the middle of a major snowstorm, my fiancé starts feeling incredibly under the weather. Not taking the risk, I get him to the doctor, taking an hour to drive a usual ten-minute drive because of road conditions. I decide to stay in the waiting room and read. It’s just me and the receptionist in the front when a man holding his arm oddly comes in.)

Man: “I’m here for an appointment.”

Receptionist: “Yes, are you…” *trails off and pales* “Uh…”

Man: “I’m [Man], here about my hand.”

Receptionist: “I’m sorry; it says here you cut your finger off?”

(I look up from my book, completely horrified, and now notice the man has a very bloody towel around his hand.)

Man: “I was cutting wood and missed. It’s safer to drive here than the hospital.”

Receptionist: “You need to go to the emergency room right now. I’m calling you an ambulance!”

Man: *turns to me* “She’s overreacting, right?”

Me: *notices he’s carrying a sandwich bag with a FINGER IN IT* “Absolutely not!”

(He kept protesting, but eventually got into the ambulance and left. I told my fiancé about it after the fact, but he’d thought it was a fever dream. The kicker? The doctor’s office was at the top of a hill, while the nearest hospital was maybe half a mile away in a very open area, much easier to get to in snow.)

Hats Off To Good Drugs!

, , , , , | Healthy | December 22, 2018

(I am in the hospital, having an operation on my hand that requires me to be under general anaesthetic. I am fourteen years old and have previously had two generals, so I know I react well, if very strangely. The anaesthetist is prepping me for surgery, with my dad beside me.)

Anaesthetist: “Okay, now the next drug I’m going to give you is this [medicine], which [does something I now can’t remember]. Okay?”

Me: *already a little bit drugged up and very sluggishly cheerful* “Okay!”

Anaesthetist: *barely started administering the medicine* “Right, so, adults often say that it feels like you’ve had a little drink–”

Me: “Oooh, yep, got that! Wooowwwww! Dad, everything’s blurry!”

Anaesthetist: *trying not to laugh* “Yes, sweetheart, it does that sometimes. I always hear that it’s a bit like having alcohol from the adults, and some people say that it makes them feel very happy.”

Me: “It feels like I’ve had alcohol or something!”

Anaesthetist: “There she goes!”

Me: “And I feel really happy! Did you give me something?”

Anaesthetist: “I’m going to put you to sleep now, sweetheart, okay?”

Me: “Okay! See you in a bit! I like your hat!”

(Out like a light. I apologised to the anaesthetist afterward, while still a bit drugged, and asked where his hat was when he came to tell me that I’d made his day. He’d never been wearing one.)

Have A Heart (Attack)!

, , , , , | Healthy | December 22, 2018

(I work in a clinic that has regular patients who have treatment three times a week, sitting side by side each treatment. We are very short-handed today and I have the section where [Patient #1], who is very demanding, is located. She wants to get off treatment early, at 1:00. However, right before [Patient #1]’s turn, [Patient #2] begins to have a heart attack. As the rest of staff is on break, three other nurses and I immediately begin to perform CPR and attend him.)

Patient #1: “[My Name], are you still going to take me off treatment at one?”

Me: *obviously doing compressions* “Right now is not a good time; I’ll get to you when I can.”

Patient #1: “Well, could you get someone else to get me off treatment, then? Is it so important you need four people there? Where is everyone else?”

(The other nurses and I continue to perform CPR. As one nurse is talking to the 911 operator, [Patient #1] starts bothering the nurse.)

Patient #1: “[Nurse], can you take me off treatment? Hello? Are you listening to me?”

(She repeats herself, getting louder and louder each time, but we continue to tell her we’ll get to her when we can. Finally, paramedics arrive for [Patient #2]. After paramedics take [Patient #2], we are finally able to return to our other patients. All the other staff who were on break are returning now. I am finally able to get to [Patient #1].)

Patient #1: *two-faced* “Well, you sure know how to make me late! Is [Patient #2] okay? I was so worried about him! Did you know his kids were going to visit him this weekend?”

(She continued to tell me all his kids’ business as if nothing had happened. I quietly just took her off treatment because I was so disgusted someone could be so concerned with herself despite the fact that he could’ve died. Thankfully, he is doing well since we acted quickly.)

Maybe The Neurology Ward Has A Telepath?

, , , | Healthy | December 20, 2018

(I work in a clinic with eight doctors in it, and a staff of about 90 between our multiple locations. My job involves acting as the operator, so I am one of three women who answer the phones initially, and usually get this call:)

Patient: “Somebody called me.”

Me: “Who was it, please?”

Patient: “I don’t know.”

Me: “Was there a voice message?”

Patient: “I didn’t check for one.”

Me: “I apologize, there are almost a hundred people who work here. I couldn’t say who tried to call you.”

Patient: “You mean you don’t know?”

Me: “Since you don’t have a name, no, I don’t.”

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