Milford Whitinsville Regional Hospital ER

I’ve been here far too many times for my taste. I’m fine, totally healthy, just going through this odd phase of not being able to see straight. And apparently that’s of great concern for some… like my mother and — far less importantly — my doctor.

So here I am, the emergency room of the Milford Whitinsville Regional Hospital — a small, smelly, somewhat crowded space of mix-matched teal and white tiles, cold sterile walls, and a boatload of germs. This is the place where my brother took me when I tore my ankle to bits. It’s also the place my father took me in a haze when I was overdosed on drugs after having my wisdom teeth removed. And this is the place where they prescribed me drugs through my tears and screams whenever I had double-ear-infections. (Yes, I am a wuss — but those things hurt like hell!) This is also the place I used to scurry around frantically while dressed in those hospital scrubs when I was a hard-worker in the radiology department a few doors down. But that was back before my job was replaced by computers. (I’m being dramatic; I’m really not all that torn up about losing it…)

My favorite part of the emergency room — and really the only interesting part compared to those itchy plastic bracelets, long-ass wait, and (rightfully so) impatient doctors — is guessing what everyone else is in here for. I’m fine. Really. Just a little bit blind — but that’ll go away.

The girl across from me though, she’s in trouble. She’s curled up in the seat looking miserable with an awkward green tinge to her skin. With frequent trips to the bathroom and soft tears rolling down her pasty cheeks, I can say with some authority that she ain’t healthy. Flu, maybe. Stomach bug, perhaps. But she’s all alone, waiting, miserable… Poor thing.

The girl behind her, on the other hand, is all together too chipper to be ill. She’s here with her mom, and both ladies are quite beautiful. She’s a loud and obnoxious 16-year-old. I overhear there conversations from time to time… something about her sleeping on a couch… something about someone trying to talk her to get in the backseat and her resisting… something about friends interjected with a whole lot of “like”s and “as if”s. My guess: she partied hard last night, got drunk, fell down. Or perhaps she got into a car accident. Her mom’s mostly concerned with her swollen ankle.

To my left is a husband and wife, looking bored. This one’s way too easy — the lady’s fingers on her left hand are all wrapped up in gauze and tape and bloods seeping through. Who knows how it happens, but the lady almost cut her fingers off.

Behind them are two Japanese kids. You can’t honestly expect me to guess that one — I don’t even know what language they’re speaking! But they’re the only other patients sitting impatiently and waiting to see a doctor on this fine Sunday afternoon. Old ladies and gentlemen come and go with illnesses or injuries, and they are rushed in well before us and released long before we even get to see the nurse. There’s also a kind woman from Texas who keeps coming the payphone beside me to call her fiancé (all facts she’s told me) because a friend of hers is being seen. I’ve overheard her conversations too: something about cat scans and neck braces.

I do hope everyone ends up all right.

In the meantime, I’m going to continue sitting impatiently and bond with my darling mother, who was kind enough to waste the last precious hours of weekend sunlight with me in the nasty emergency room of Milford Whitinsville Regional Hospital.

Thanks, Mom. : )