Laying here on my back, swollen toes pointing up at the God who saved me from MegaDeath.
Thinking about hospitals & patriotism.
In the ER on Friday, I was sure I’d be there for at least 9 hours or more waiting to register…waiting for a room…waiting to see a doctor…waiting to have x-rays…waiting for x-ray results…waiting for doctor to look them over…waiting for diagnoses…waiting to be admitted or discharged.
Generally speaking, a U.S. emergency room wait is a good time to pull out a mirror and watch your hair turn gray.
While you WAIT.
Friday, though, was a pleasant surprise.
The ER was nearly empty, I was registered, wheeled into a room, and seen by a doctor in record ER time (1.5 hours!). X-rays and all the waiting around sped by within another short couple of hours, and I was patched up, and hobbling out to my car on crutches only 4 hours after arriving.
This got me thinking back to the last time I MegaD’d my ankle – before my rambunctious terrorist MegaDeath was even born.
I was in Cuba, on the road from Havana to Santiago, traveling as most Cubans do, by way of thumb…