You can't be surprised that I have a distinct dislike of Emergency Rooms. I especially hate Emergency Rooms on Mondays. Unable to negotiate a better resolution to an ongoing issue, I found myself at the E.R. on Monday.
Armed with notes, reports, and lab results from the doc who just sent me over, any hope of making this a quicker trip was dashed when I saw there were no empty seats in the waiting room. I was triaged and registered quickly. The wait was underway.
The dynamics are odd here - like an intimacy that permits some to share their health and family histories with strangers. People-watching is sport in almost any E.R. waiting room.
There were patients, parents, family members and friends. While they continued to doze in their chairs, feign interest in the all-news station on the T.V., or flip pages of books and magazines, I conducted my own triage assessment of the waiting room. Eventually, I got a seat under the television. I could read the magazine I'd brought with me and listen to the continuously updated news at the same time. It was a great place to watch the room.
There's a woman, holding an older infant. The boy on her lap is under 2, dressed only in a diaper and t-shirt. He is red from (my guess) fever, his posture is limp, his eyes are mostly closed, occasionally he gives a whimper. His older brother appears to be 4 or 5. He's doing a great job of passing the time while they wait.
Across the way, is an inter-generational grouping: Grandpa's in his 60's; Mom's in her 40's; her son is 4 or 5. At some point earlier in the day, the boy had been unwell. He was obviously feeling better now: he ate the snacks, drank the soda, finished the juice and the water. He climbed over the furniture, under the furniture, over the stroller, under the stroller, rammed the stroller into people who were a little less-appreciative of his exuberance. "He's feeling so much better, why don't we take him home?" Grandpa suggested. Mom didn't want to take a chance that he'd take a turn for the worse and lose his place in the triage line.
After about an hour, Brother Across the Room observed "That boy doesn't seem sick like Younger Brother. Maybe he doesn't need to see the doctor anymore." I laughed inwardly, but could not miss the nods from some of the people in the room.
There's a couple in the corner that I recognized from the neighborhood. Their dog is a small, fluffy, friendly-enough mixed breed. I couldn't tell if one them was unwell or if they were waiting for somebody who was in the examination and treatment area.
We learned all about D's family. She's a vibrant woman in her 90's (92 in August!), the second daughter of 4; her younger sisters are twins. I didn't change seats to view pictures of her family, but a couple people did.
At 11:00, the crowd thinned. Several people decided they'd waited long enough and headed home. I wasn't too surprised by their decisions. They were all people I'd personally placed at the lower end of the priority scale. I thought one couple was leaving their daughter behind - I had put the three together - I'd played that one wrong.
As people arrived and left, I adjusted my triage-game. I had set my own 'go-home-time'. I'd be more comfortable feeling unwell at home, if I couldn't get meaningful treatment tonight. I would ask for the notes and papers back and just try again another time. I didn't need it. I was in the treatment system before that time rolled around. It's a big step forward through those sliding doors, but ultimately, it's just a different kind of waiting.
Tags: [Hospital Emergency Room] [Triage Standards]
Mr Pizzi said the severity of some pet’s depression may put its life at risk. Parrots are especially vulnerable. They are known to engage in self-mutilating behavior, like plucking out feathers, when their depression is left untreated.
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