The unkempt man behind me could not wait his turn. Maybe in his fifties, casually dressed, his demeanor was one of barely controlled panic. “Miss? Nurse? I need to take a sh*t. Please. Check me in for a colonic. Did you hear me? I need to take a sh*t. Let's do this, can you hurry, please?” Apparently the blood on my cheek did not warrant respect in his book, like he deserved to go first for his obvious emergency. (And later the nurses couldn't help but laugh as they recalled his brash demands, especially when they discovered that he was a patient of the hospital, had a regular doctor, and didn't need to be in the ER. Why are you even in the ER? Go back to your own team, Mr. Colonic.)
And the man to my left, not a patient but a visitor waiting patiently, stared at my cheek, clearly fascinated by the periodic dribble of blood. Sitting so close even though we had an armrest between us, the man waited until I turned to finally give him attention, and then he belched in my face.
“Sorry,” said quietly and with little conviction. Sorry? How about next time you don't burp in my face! And I know it isn't attractive when blood trickles down my face, so excuse me for using this gauze square to mop it up. Your dirty and disgusted looks at my necessary actions are unappreciated.
And then I heard a ruckus. A behemoth of a white man in sweats and unruly gray hair was causing a scene.
“Well, nurse, you just called my name, ya can see that I'm limping, and now you're asking me to sit back down. What the hell? What's next? You want me to do backflips or something? Should I backflip back to my chair? Where's your supervisor!!?” said in a Brooklyn accent. “Where's your gosh darn supervisor!! Give me a supervisor!”
And then I was admitted through the daunting double doors, see ya later suckers, I'm gonna be seen by a doc. But of course, I wasn't seen right away and of course, the doors do not discriminate so I found myself surrounded, once again.
The girl was indignant. She was an indignant New York version of my older sister, same age, same hair, and same flair for indignation. “Give me my meds. My back hurts. I have been here for hours, and I have explained my story a hundred times. I was helping my friend move her couch and I twisted my back. Yes, I was here last month and I know I need to see a specialist and I will, but it's Friday and I am in PAIN.” The doctor acknowledged her complaint, but it was apparent to those around him that he maybe doubted the authenticity of the claim. I mean, let's get serious, I am pretty sure we've all “heard that one before”. “Give me an injection, right now, so help me, Jesus! I just need a shot.”
Outside of the radiology department I felt a presence heave into the chair next to me. Large does not come close to describing this whale of a black woman who was muttering to herself, in between wheezing, in between asking me questions. And it was a feat that her gown kept her covered. “You live close? You taking a cab? You taking a cab home? Nurse? Do you have a number for a cab? Wait on First Avenue, that's all? How about you, you live close?” And I heard the nurses gossiping, complaining that she was a repeat offender, wheezing won't go away with that suit of flesh and the cigarette consumption. At this point, I could not bring myself to make eye contact, so I looked to the side. But be careful, don't make eye contact with the guy in the gurney, the one with the leg cast, the older professor looking one who I could not take seriously on account of the blue beret he had cocked on his balding head.
And I could feel his stares, his anxious eyes not leaving my face for fear that he will miss his one opportunity to engage. “Nurse? I'm awful hungry, can I get some food? Al? Can ya get me some food? I've been here all day.” And wouldn't you know it, two minutes later the nurse, “Al”, returned with a brown paper bag and dropped it on the man's lap.
“Here you go, Shakespeare.” Shakespeare. Blue beret. And the man pulled out each item, weighed it in his hand, and smiled with relish. Every item inspired a name and detailed description, like he was Adam in charge of naming the animals.
“Strawberry Jello, so much better than the banana, mmmmm. Cheese sandwich. Cheese and Mayo. Mmm, mayo on the bread. Mmmm, cheese sandwich.” The woman next to me perked up at every groan of satisfaction, like a dog spotting a nearby walker with a treat.
The moans got to the woman, and I felt her enormous behind teeter in her chair in anticipation, “Nurse? I want a sammich! Can I get a sammich? He got a sammich, can I have a sammich?” And her rocking increased in speed, and her lower lip jutted out and she kept on demanding her “sammich”. Finally, her demands were fulfilled when another nurse brought over a paper bag, apologizing that it was only cereal, but that's the best they could offer.
I dropped my concentrated efforts to avoid eye contact after nearly losing my mind with the barrage of “Sammich! Sammich!” and Shakespeare saw his chance and swooped in quickly. “Did you get in an accident?”
“Yeah, a bike accident.”
“Oh. I fell from a ten foot wall onto cement. I see you have no broken bones.” This last part said with a grin as he tapped his cheese sandwich on his leg cast. Thankfully I was spared further details by the doctor finally calling me in for my stitches. As I hobbled away, I saw Shakespeare pull a toothbrush out of his pocket and start madly brushing his extended tongue with a furious intensity.