Fun in the Emergency Room

So, I fucked my knee about five weeks ago. I didn't think anything was broken and was persuaded by my own Internet-aided diagnosis that there was little to be done until swelling went down.

Knee is much better, but at the nagging urging of sweetie, I promised to have it assessed and because I've got a gig starting Friday, I decided today was the day.

Emerg is a happening place. We had the screaming woman telling everyone she had rights and her husband was going to sue everyone's asses off. Screams got louder:'What are you giving me? You can't give me meds without my permission. What are you giving me?'

Three strangers sitting in a row muttered, 'Tranquilizers'.

We had querulous old folks, truculent young folks in handcuffs, pissed-off weekend warriors, and weeping young women.

But it wasn't the screamers and weepers that got to me.

For quite a long time I was parked between a South Asian couple speaking I don't know what language quietly and a pair of kinda blowsy broads in their 60s.

I couldn't understand the couple but I kept catching words, some in English, some seemingly in French or Italian. So that was driving me a little nuts.

I hadn't been paying attention to the blowsy broads until one of them started talking about Abraham and Moses and I listened enough to understand these were the biblical guys. Okey-dokey, then, tuned out.

Tuned back in when same woman started in on partial-birth abortions and how 'they leave the babeez in cupboards to die'. Eek.

The next line did it. Said absolutely seriously: 'It's a blood sacrifice'.

I hopped up and went to join the pissed-off weekend warrior.

Luckily, it was near the end for me. Yup, fracture. Appointment made with Fracture Clinic next week.

And I was outta there.

Clearly, hanging in Emerg can be dangerous to one's mental health.