Allow me to explain.
Let me set the stage: the waiting room was packed, buzzing with the sound of people coughing with the enthusiasm of someone trying to clear a lifetime of regrets. Coughs, sniffles, and the occasional wail from a child who clearly didn’t sign up for this. It was a microcosm of humanity at its most vulnerable. And yet, oddly, no masks required. Sure, you could wear one if you wanted, but the general vibe was more “free-range germs for all!” than “let’s contain this outbreak.”
It’s like the hospital figured, “Hey, they’re already sick. What’s a little influenza sprinkled on top?”
Then, the chairs. Imagine sitting on something that combines the worst aspects of a medieval rack with the ergonomics of a brick.
Every so often, a name would be called, and someone from this suffering crowd would shuffle toward the elusive back rooms. We’d all watch them go, a mix of envy and despair on our faces.
Finally, after 18 ½ hours (in case I didn’t mention it before), after what felt like an eternity, my name was called. I practically leapt out of my torture chair—though I needed a second to make sure my butt still worked. I was led to a bed (which was just a gurney, but after the chair it felt like a Temper-Pedic). The ER doctor came in, apologizing for the wait. “It’s frustrating for us too,” she said. “We’re doing the best we can.”
Still, amid the chaos and discomfort, one thing stood out: the staff. These overworked heroes were doing everything humanly possible to manage an impossible situation. Despite the crushing number of patients and a room full of people who had long since run out of patience, the nurses, receptionists, and doctors remained calm, professional, and compassionate. I watched them navigate angry outbursts, soothe frightened children, and handle a parade of bizarre injuries with the kind of grace that deserves a Netflix documentary.
I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that by adding some beds, capacity, staff, and one or two more doctors they could probably shave a good six hours off the wait time.
In case you were worried, I’m fine now, thanks. Whatever health issue I had magically resolved itself somewhere between hours 14 and 16. At this point, I think my body just wanted to get out of there.
In the end, my ER adventure was more than just about surviving a health scare. It was a test of patience, endurance, and my ability to avoid catching pneumonia from three dozen people coughing in my general direction for hours on end.
Would I do it again? Let’s hope I don’t have to.
But if I do, I’m bringing my own chair. And hazmat suit.
