Why, how did you spend your Monday ?
Personally I think it's a great line ; in any case it gets them uniformed bitches falling over each other in greatly enthused agitations. Try it sometime, why the hell not ? You've lived this long, you're entitled. Have your slavegirl pull the car at the curb in front of the ER, and while the other slavegirl tries her best to keep up with you, bust through the door and tell the seated girl -- the first seated girl your eyes land on -- "Hello...". Loud and clear, you know ? Like you mean business.
If my personal experience's anything like a guide for your own expectations of the future (then again, maybe this approach's unwise for you) they'll be spinning like tops, "this way, no that way" ; and as
you I make my way through the door on the left that the girl pointed out to me, the door to the right opens letting out the triage nurse, "omg where is he" etcetera. I mean, why the hell not! Peekaboo infraction.
Needless to say I was being EKG'd within five minutes of busting in the joint, in turn ten minutes from hopping in the cari, in turn fifteen or so minutes after waking up this morning with... well, honestly, an unseemly feeling of pressure in my chest. Right where it's not supposed to be, you know ? Not very strong or anything, but... why the hell not ? I mean, I wasn't going to at first, but the bitches prevailed, and off we went.
That was, of course, eight hours ago. Eight hours' a long time, it certainly gives one time to think. To meditate, even. While waiting for the waiting to be done -- because my EKG came out kinda meh (certainly nothing like my old textbook-picture-perfect EKGs), and they were still doing bloodwork, had roused the cardiologist, and were going to repeat-EKG in half hour to see clearer -- I remembered the last time I did something like this.
It was fifteen years ago almost to the day. I bust in the ER of the (at the time) best hospital in the countryii, just as young, just as intense, just as everything else. They drew enough blood out of me to drown a horse (back then the cardiac enzime tests weren't nearly as sensitive) and... well... discharged me scratching their heads. "Very good that you're paying attention... but... no this isn't a heart attack ; in fact your heart's like something from the Cardiology Illustrated swimsuit catalog".
That was back then ; it took all of an hour and a half, the whole production. I had a great time of it, really -- Chet was there, we were having fun. Meanwhile the second EKG's in and by now they're shitting it, because there's the one thing they don't like to see staring right back from the printout : dynamics in the ST segment. I mean, there exist all sort and manner of things they don't like to see, obviously ; but this is high on the list. Pre-diagnosis it's ischemia, the poor cardiologist swallows hard and drags me over to her stress test benchiii wherein I proceed to climb 15% at 6kmph for a coupla minutes without concern (no, it didn't start at that, they follow a gradual approach) and... well.. "How do you feel now ?" "Much better, actually." "No pressure ?" "None! I can breathe much easier now!"
This, needless to say, is very much not how the little tryout was supposed to go, which is why they had the bulkiest nurses in the joint flank me while I was treading that treadmill. Just in case I start falling over. I mean, don't get me wrong -- I have all the symptoms of the over-comfortable white chauvinist malepig, that hateable creature that won't even bend his back enough to tie his own shoes (I kid you not, I've got slavegirls for that!), which is why my heart rate shoots to well over 160 while doing it. But it does it without complaint, that's the important part. I'm a disciplined кулак & exploiter of the topless masses, I'd like that well reflected in the extant record.iv
If you know how these things go you're probably making bets with yourself whether they calcium or not calcium. Of course they calcium. Doh. Therefore I get to be ferried by another joint-provided girlie to the place where gents just like me lie down while being dunked in and out of that rotary oven, holding my breath and things, and all for naught. I mean it, literally : my venous calcium score came out 0-0. The tech is this fellow originally from Cuba, very pleasant. He's been doing this for the past twenty-six years, he tells me, while we're joking around and shooting the breeze waiting for my heart rate to come back down towards seventy-eighty something. Because that's the whole problem with this place, as Hannah aptly pointed out : "when we're just sitting here talking you're at like 77 ; the moment something beeps or one of them comes over to talk to you, it's 89".
Anyways, all that together with 0.000 troponine finally ruins the party. There's nothing even like a heart attack ongoing here, the gent lied. They all sigh a sigh of relief and go back to solitaire, there's no emergency anymore for today. Too bad, just when things were getting interesting for once, huh ? I'm not kidding, either, other than me the other customer was this (very fucking plaintive) kid from Latvia I think, who had fallen on his hand such as to bust a finger. That's the fuck it. I spent hours in the ER, no black lives matter, no innocent youths shot inexplicably, no nothing. Me and some wobbly kid, thassit!
Anyways, not that I mind the patronage, but I swear I didn't make the shit up. I'm sure I've got a lot of problems, just like everyone ; but whatever my problems are... apparently they're not possibly my heart. I have it on very good authority, signed and stamped : I've got a lotta heart. Still.
Anyways, if you're curious as to hospital costs, I know a girl sent by grocery clerks to collect a bill :
That'd be all, and honestly it was worth it just for the social side. How much do you pay for the pleasant young women, by the day & dozenv ? I expect more than that ; I'm not going to push the inquiry further because I also expect you're way the fuck better at having heart attacks than I am.
What can I do. I suck. That's all I got.———
- I live pretty close to the best hospital in the country, five or so miles on a fluid highway, like any self-respecting geriatric. What, you shop for real estate by school district ? Pshaw. [↩]
- Back then it was Clinica Biblica ; meanwhile it went to shit. CIMA was back then a dubious upstart, but meanwhile they took the fuck over, holy shit I've never seen a hospital this good. Excepting, of course, for said Clinica Biblica, fifteen years ago. [↩]
- Really, she has a pretty girl with a crystalline laughter push my old man chair around the hospital. Very considerate of her. And a lot of fun! [↩]
- Just like Gyr, rite. [↩]
- We were joshing about re-enacting the Warsaw hotel scene in the ER, but I discarded the idea.
I discarded the idea, see ? [↩]