Or nearly so, I think. Sick, sick people, codes, silliness, moaning families, no breaks, infarcts, cerebral bleeds, prima donna internists, ambulances, always ambulances riding the hallways waiting for nonexistent beds clogged with ALC* patients: a confusion of patients, clamor and faeces, all wrapped in a dense fusion-powered bubble we call the emerg.
And then while I am assisting with the third snowboard-induced wrist reduction a moment of zen on the other side of the curtain.
A psych patient, bipolar most likely, on long off-load delay, insisting, no, loudly and continually demanding admission, adding to the ambiance of decibels and stress. It’s Christmas, and with no family, it seems she’s lonely.
“But Agnes,” comes the reply behind the curtain. “You’re not crazy enough for admission.”
Sweet, blessed silence, and stifled laughter.
__________
*See Glossary.
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