My Fun and Fascinating Trip to the Local ER

Written by: Alex Sandell

Tuesday, April 1st:

11:33 p.m.- My friend Eric and I are playing an innocent game of "You Don't Know Jack (X-Large)" when I suddenly start getting that magic-aura that just says "grand-mal seizure" like no other. With electrical-current surging through my body, I rush to my ugly green couch. I try to lie down upon it, to avoid falling to the floor once I go completely unconscious, but can only get the upper-half of my body onto the couch, due to a pile of "Star Wars" toys where my legs are 'sposed to go. The last thing I tell Eric, before seizing, is to go get help and not to let me hit my head.
11:35 p.m.- Eric lets me hit my head. As Eric runs to get help, the upper-half of my body convulses on off of the couch. I fall three feet, hitting the cement floor, face first.
11:47 p.m.- I become mentally-alert enough to realize I'm somehow in another room, surrounded by family, friends and Dick Clark. (I think the Dick Clark thing was a hallucination.) "What Happened?" I mumble. "You had a seeeeeeeeeizuuuuuuuuure." Somebody returns in their best "I'll be riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight here," E.T. sounding voice.
11:48-11:59 p.m.- I put ice on the huge bump/cut/bruise that is my head and pace the floor in a panic-stricken frenzy, begging anyone to take me to the hospital. Swearing up and down that I'm going to have another seizure. People keep saying "you're fine . . . you'll be okay . . . go to
sleep . . . you won't have another seizure."

Wednesday, April 2nd:

9:10 a.m.- I have another seizure.
9:17 a.m.- I regain consciousness and find out about the second seizure I had. I'm too out of it to say "I told you so."
9:39 a.m.- Arrive at the hospital's ER where an overweight doctor and a sexy nurse look me over. The doctor decides a CT would be wise for my head. Damn, that nurse has a nice body. I spend the next few minutes amazed at what a human-being can endure while still maintaining the capacity to become aroused.
9:48 a.m.- I breakdown and take the CT. My fourth in two years. And people wonder why I glow in the dark.
10:21 a.m.- Doc says scan is okay but I should come back if I start feeling funny. This confuses me. Doctor gets ready to send me home, tells me I shouldn't have another seizure.
10:29 a.m.- I have another seizure. I wake up feeling very strange, there's doctors and nurses and laughing Dick Clarks all around me. "Did I have another seizure?" I ask, already knowing the answer. "Yes," the fat doctor replies, "and we're keeping you here overnight for observation."
10:35 a.m.- I find out the sexy-nurse heard me making sounds during my convulsions. A nurse straight out of a pubescent male-fantasy and me making grunting noises. Doh!
10:41 a.m.- The sexy-nurse dresses me in this moronic hospital-gown that's covered with pictures of snowflakes. Just what a hospital-patient in Minnesota wants to wear for 24 hours straight . . . snowflakes.
10:47 a.m.- My bed turns into a push-cart and I'm wheeled into my room in the Intensive Care Ward. Upon arrival, I'm greeted by a staff that's paid to care but is worked too hard to actually act upon their compassion (I have no idea what that is supposed to mean, but it sounded neat.). One of these over-worked staff-members shaves my ape-like chest and puts those heart-sticker-thingies on it. Another of them draws my blood and the third puts a big IV needle into my hand, it kinda hurts.
10:58 a.m.- They use that tube/needle thing that they stuck in my hand to pump me full of 200 milligrams of Phenobarbital (the seizure med. I'm on), nearly three times my usual dose. I get tired. I fall asleep watching Scooby-Doo.
5:42 p.m.- I am awakened by an internal-medicine doctor that has obviously done a bit too much internal-medicine himself. He keeps making inane jokes about how I look like I was mugged and going into hysterics over them. Even in my groggy state, I assume he must have been voted "Dork Least Likely To Succeed" in his high-school yearbook. He decides to put me on a drug called "Paxil" to treat the stress caused by all the stuff my wicked ex-fiancée did to me. He then tells me I look like I was mugged and leaves my room, laughing hysterically.
5:54 p.m.- A nurse comes in to tuck me in and check my vital-signs. "He's fun," she says. Where do they find these people?
6:10 p.m.- No one remembers to bring me supper.
6:42 p.m.- My stomach rumbles and I start having to pee.
7:27 p.m.- I press my little "nurse-calling" button and summon a nurse. I tell her I have to go to the bathroom. "Do you have to move your bowels?" She asks. "No, I have to drain my lizard," I respond, slightly irked over this entire affair. "Oh, you can't get out of bed," the nurse tells me, the epitome of all seriousness, "I'll bring you a jug." A jug? A jug?!? Two-thousand dollars a night, no cable and they'll bring me a jug? Damnit, this is where I draw the line. I'm getting out of this bed if it kills me. There's no way I'm peeing in a jug.
7:29 p.m.- I pee in a jug. My urine is bright yellow. This is sort of embarrassing.
7:41 p.m.- The nurse comes in to grab my potty-jug. "Let me see if I just can't get you something to eat," she says while swinging my bright-yellow piss around in a jug with a gigantic grin on her face. This is the first good news I've heard since I arrived.

Thursday, April 3rd:

12:52 a.m.- I fall asleep without ever getting anything to eat. The last thing I hear is my stomach growling.
5:59 a.m.- I open my eyes slightly, to see who the prick making all of the noise around my bed is. It's some portly male-nurse. "Gooooooooooooooooood morning!" He says, as chipper as a male-nurse can be, when he sees he has awakened me. "good morning," I mumble back, as lively as a male-patient who just had three seizures and has been awakened three hours earlier than he wants to be, can. The nurse-with-the-deep-voice tells me that he's "just gonna ask" me "to sit up" so he can listen to me breathe.
6:05 a.m.- The portly male-nurse guy with the chipper "gooooooooooood morning" gets done checking my breathing, reflexes, eye-movements and tells me that he'll let me go back to "snoozing." Oh, yippee.
6:22 a.m.- By some miracle, probably all the drugs they have me on, I fall back asleep.
7:07 a.m.- I open my eyes slightly, to see who the prick making all of the noise around my bed is. It's some nurse with a needle. Just what you want to see first thing in the morning. "Gooooooood morning!" she proclaims, almost as artificially-chipper as the penis-baring nurse, "I just need to get some blood from you this morning."
7:09 a.m.- Half asleep, I hold out my arm and get blood sucked out of me. I then sit up and watch television, waiting for the doctor to come see me and let me out of this depressing madhouse.
7:49 a.m.- I notice Scooby-Doo must be on 24 hours a day.
8:41 a.m.- The dorky-doctor from Hell comes strolling in. "So, how they been treatin' ya?" He asks. "Pretty good," I return. "Jeez, from here it looks like they mugged ya, or somethin'. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Oh boy, it's too early for this.
8:52 a.m.- Doctor finishes laughing.
8:53 a.m.- I find out that my white-cell count is high due to my fever and, I had "better stay overnight again, for observation." "Why?" I ask. "I could just as well go home and, if I have any more problems, come back in." "NO!" the dorky-doctor responds, "you had better stay overnight."
9:08 a.m.- The guy-nurse comes strolling in and takes off my heart stickers. They have me hop in a wheelchair and roll me down the hall. "You're gonna get to stay in a regular room now. You won't have all these wires and things on you. You'll even be able to walk around!" Only in a hospital could someone sound enthused over this nonsense. "I really don't think I need to stay another night," I say, once again. "Oh, the doctor thinks it's for the best," the male-drone responds.
9:11 a.m.- I get put into a room with some dying-old-fart that won't let me watch Scooby-Doo.
10:14 a.m.- My newest in a long-line of nurses comes strolling in. "Breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeakfast!" she screams. "Breeeeeeeeeeeeakfast!" consists of some horrible, watery oatmeal, a piece of dry-bread they keep in a sealed plastic bag and 2% milk. I manage to get most of it down without barfing. I wish they had Frosted Lucky Charms.
10:23 a.m.-11:47 a.m.- I listen to the old-guy breathing all weird.
11:48 a.m.- My friend Rich comes in. The old guy gets all upset.
11:52 a.m.- My friend Eric comes in. The old guy gets more upset.
11:55 a.m.- We decide to order McDonald's. The old guy wants some.
11:59 a.m.- We finish taking the old guy's order. He wants a Big Mac and large-fry.
12:24 p.m.- The nurse brings in "luuuuuuuuuuunch." We're all eating McDonald's. The nurse is embarrassed. The old guy rips a fart. "Now, Hank, you knew you weren't 'sposed to be eating that kind of food," she says. Hank looks disgruntled. "I was already making $100,000 a year when you were in diapers and I can eat anything that I damn well please, little-lady and you ain't stoppin' me." Hank returns. This old-dude is cool.
12:28 p.m.- I follow Hank's lead and decide to rebel against the establishment and insist on going home. "There's no reason for me to be here," I say while sipping on a Shamrock Shake that's a bit outdated. The nurse says she'll talk with the doctor and get back to me within the next hour.
6:07 p.m.- The nurse gets back to me. She says the doctor will let me go home but, it's against his better judgement. I say that, if I stay, insurance might not cover it. "Insurance WILL cover it," she returns.

Monday, April 8th:

3:34 p.m.- I get a letter from my insurance company saying that they have decided the second day in the hospital wasn't "necessary" and that they aren't going to cover it. This is after quitting the Paxil the dorky-doctor put me on because it made me feel crazy and I found out it's to be given with "extreme-caution," if at all, to people with seizure-conditions. I wonder how Hank's doing. I think I'll bring him a Big Mac.

The End . . .
(I hope)

All written content ©1997 Alex Sandell. All Rights Reserved and, if you copy it, without asking, you'll be condemned to a stay at your local hospital that's even WORSE than this one. So there!

Back to the "Table of Brains"

Get your own free homepage at: geocities.