Waddup, Doc?

Where's Johnny and Roy when you need them?  I could've used some of that witty banter early Sunday morning when my wife and I were instructed by our ped to take our daughter to the emergency room.  And by "early" I mean 1 o'clock in the A.M.!  This was a first for me.  I've never even seen an emergency room that didn't have a T.V. character in it.  Come to think of it, I've never really driven to a destination at 1:00am that didn't involve some sort of alcoholic beverage.  This was new to me on several levels, I guess.  Anyway, let me just get it out of the way by saying all's well and she's fine, so, don't go worrying about us.  OK.  Back to the experience...

So what was it like?  Well, first of all, it would have helped tremendously to know where the nearest emergency room was.  This sounds like a no-brainer, but, sometimes your insurance plan's hospital is NOT where you want to go in an emergency. We knew of our main hospital, but, that wasn't the closest E.R. to our house.  And when you're high tailing it in a panicked frenzy, it's all about location, location, location.  We took a shot at a small hospital a couple of miles away and found it had a small E.R. there.  Whew.  It turned out to be affiliated with our insurance plan so that worked out great for us.

Secondly, E.R.s are nothing like they appear on television.  I expected to see lots of doctor types running around in long white coats or scrubs yelling for folks to hang in there or otherwise bring things to the O.R...stat!  Nope.  In fact, for the first 5 minutes, we didn't even see a soul.  Just the smooth sounds of KISS FM in the background.

Then there's the intake procedure.  Unless you're being deposited out the ass end of an ambulance, you're not getting to a doctor until you first have a sit-down with a dude behind a glass booth who makes you fill out all kinds of waivers, contracts, opt-in mailing lists, ballot measure initiatives, EULAs, and so forth before sending you to nothing more than a sterile waiting room like any other doctor's office you've been to.  Meanwhile, you're just going to have to tell that stroke, exploding appendix or .44 magnum slug in your skull to wait an hour or so until it's your turn.   You can't just run in screaming for a doctor.  That ain't gonna happen.  You must be processed.

Next, it's important to remember your child's birth year.  I got it wrong and had to start from scratch.  Dammit! 04! 04! 04!  Finally, we were admitted.

This particular E.R. should spend a couple of extra bucks and pick up an ear thermometer.  It was pleasant for no one in the triage when my baby's bunghole was probed with a 5 inch piece of cold steel.  I was about to say that rectal anything cannot be a pleasant experience for anyone.  But then I remembered we all have our different likes, dislikes and orientations.  Still...ear over ass next time, guys.

It was fairly smooth sailing after we finally made it to our glorious curtained suite.  Fresh cut flowers, satellite TV, recessed lighting and our wine steward were nowhere to be found, surprisingly.  Instead, we relaxed on the gurney as we eavesdropped on why the rest of the folks were there with us.  There was a sore throat that required some Tylenol.  There was a dog bite that required some Tylenol.  And there was an old guy with some sort of internal thing going on that ultimately required some, you guessed it...Tylenol.  In fact, it was suggested that we use Tylenol as our first choice of OTC fever reduction medication in the future.  We're Motrin people, though, so fuck that.  Sell outs.

Finally, after going over a couple of things we can do at home to ease our baby's recovery, our doctor leaves us with the nurse to wrap things up.  However, this other [we assume] doctor wreaking of cigarettes and bearing a large cancerous-looking legion on his nose comes over to us and suggests he take the baby's temperature one more time with the rectal thermometer.  Huh?  That just sounds weird.  First of all, he wasn't involved with our visit in the first place.  Secondly, no medication or treatment was given while we were here so why would things change?  "You guys took her temperature not 20 minutes ago," my wife and I are thinking as we look at each other intently.  My wife clutches our baby closer.  We're kind of confused and feeling weird about that suggestion.  Why the infatuation with our baby's bottom, doc?  Even the nurse made a half-assed attempt at suggesting it wasn't necessary.  Still, Dr. Perv brings the damned rectal thing over and is waiting for us to drop dipe once again.  "I'd rather not," my wife says.  "Yeah, we just got her calmed down," I say.  He continued to press the issue but eventually backed down from the butt probe.  However, he insists on getting her temperature anyways.  So what does he do?  He puts the fucking rectal thermometer in her mouth!!!  Yes, I know there is a plastic shield on it, but, WTF???  Who is this guy???  That's borderline criminal.

He does his thing and, of course, there was no change in her temperature.  We leave in a huff trying to make heads or tails of what just happened.  I think if the doctor wasn't oozing tobacco and didn't look like a drunken sailor beaten with an ugly stick we might have been more at ease.  A George Clooney type or maybe a Chad Everett and we may not have even raised an eyebrow.  As it stands, it was icky.

In summation, E.R.s are not like "E.R." by a longshot.  On the upside, I haven't seen 3:00am in I don't know how long.  I had a beer when I got home to celebrate that milestone.