Like many old people I have (sadly by some estimates) a developing history with hospitals. I prefer to view the chronology as periodization (“the science of arranging events in their order of occurrence”). Last night (rather early this morning) I added another occasion to my log of events. This time it was a midnight visit to the Almonte General Hospital Emergency Department. Because I had lately been told by someone (perhaps my erstwhile physician) that the Emergency Department in Almonte may on occasion be closed due to unavailability of nursing staff (seemingly distinct from the availability of physicians) I telephoned ahead to ensure someone would be there. Notwithstanding that the hospital is at most only ten blocks from where I live, there was little point troubling myself to dress adequately for a midnight appearance at the Emergency Department if I were to be met by nobody.
Naturally during the moment of this early morning urgency I had difficulty finding a number on my iPhone for the Almonte General Hospital because I regularly deal only with the Ottawa Valley Family Health Team (though located mere steps from the Emergency Department door). It was an annoying obstruction at the time. Nonetheless once connected to the hospital, there was an immediate answer (that is, after the usual introductory recorded messages about all the different numbers you might call instead of the one you did). A very enthusiastic nurse (who charitably referred to me as “dear”) answered my call. She first noticeably enquired whether the AGH Emergency Department was the office closest to me. I answered accordingly. She then gleefully invited me to drop by and hung up.
It required a measure of application to prepare myself for departure to the Emergency Department. The blood from my arm was steady and voluminous. Every attempt I had made to subdue the rupture with a long-sleeved white synthetic shirt had so far failed to mitigate the flow. In addition I had increasingly remarked that blood was everywhere about me on the floor (which fortunately was a plain bathroom floor upon which I had had at least the courtesy to evoke this transmission instead of upon the white bedclothes for example or upon the surrounding rugs). Don’t ask me why the entitlement to this small but meaningful restriction. Nor, for that matter, what had provoked the gush in the first place. All I can report (should you possibly have any interest to know) is that, after midnight this morning upon getting up from bed to void my bladder, I felt the distinct flow of liquid from my left arm. Recently I had undergone a minor surgical operation to remove a particle of flesh for a biopsy. And only days ago the sutures had been removed and bandage applied. Apparently the wound had not fully healed; and thus the eruption of hemoglobin.
What attributed the qualification of emergency to this otherwise messy and inconvenient activity was that nothing I did appeared to be working to stop the flow. I reasoned, unprofessionally of course, that replacement sutures were required.
In my early morning bathroom surgery, I covered the wound as best as possible, adding gauze and bandaids. It appeared to have worked. So I donned a clean shirt and headed to my car.
It was dark drive along Spring Street towards the hospital. I parked in the handicap zone immediately at the front door of the Emergency Department (yes, I have a handicap badge on the car). The moment I opened the car door I could see the blood was once again pouring from my arm down the side of my shirt (which was already covered in a pool of darkness). As I laboured on my stick to the Emergency Department I was thankfully directed by an unknown young person in the waiting room how to press a button to alert the nursing staff of my arrival.
As soon as the nurse opened the door and saw the blood on my side, she welcomed me to proceed accordingly. First, however, she wanted my Health Card. Then a list of medications. Then an explanation of the problem. All of which was complicated by the nurse’s assertion that the Emergency Department had no connection with the nearby Health Team of local medical doctors upon whom I had attended.
When we had finally overcome these administrative matters, the doctor arrived to commence further sutures. My shirt had by this time been deposited to a plastic bag. I was invited to wear a hospital gown to disguise my protuberant belly upon my evacuation. No one of course in the waiting room cared a damn about my nut-house appearance upon leaving.