ER

The poor partner had to go to the emergency room last night. Everything is ok, but he was starting to sound like that little kid on Malcom in the Middle. The partner did not like this comparison, but it is the closest thing I could think of to describe it (reference to Lord of the Flies seems not quite right in this case). The breathing had started to get bad over the past week, especially since the most important medication (or so the partner was told) was not covered by insurance, leaving it unaffordable at the moment. When the skin under the partner's nails was a ghastly shade of white/gray and not responding to that test that you do where you push on the nail to see how quickly it returns to normal (usually it is a pinkish colour and when you push down it will turn white, only to return to the pinkish colour as soon as you remove the pressure) I started to get concerned.

So off we went at around 12:30 am.


Emergency rooms freak me out, and I am sure that I am not alone in this one. I always feel like I am witnessing things that I was not meant to witness. The teenager in her fuzzy pjs, clutching her middle in pain, the young couple holding onto each other in tears, the people rushing in looking for a loved one who had been brought by ambulance....I don't know how nurses handle it all. I think I would absorb too much pain on a daily basis.

Yet, while there is the side of me that feels as if I should avert my eyes, there is the other side of me that always wants to know EXACTLY what is going on around me. Why are they crying? What's going on? I slowly start to get emotionally involved in the lives of these strangers, even if only for a brief moment. Will the doctor come out with good news? Will the teenage girl feel better?

Growing up in a small rural town, it makes sense for me to respond this way, as usually I would know the people in the waiting room at the ER, or their cousin, or the buddy that was married to his sister, who was Fred's cousin, twice removed. Small towns are like that. I don't know what my excuse is here. Maybe part conditioned, part nosey, part wanting to help everyone.


Carrying on with the theme of the 'watcher' being 'watched' (from the story below), I am sure that they want to (without really wanting to) know who I am waiting for as I read silently from my book--what is my emergency that I am dealing with? I catch the glances my way, and I overhear snippets of conversation, from other people waiting, as they try to figure out different situations (that girl over there? I saw her mother being wheeled in, poor thing *clicking of the tongue*).

Slowly the faces in the waiting room change, as people grow tired of waiting and begin to walk around, families are reunited, the nurse comes to take them back to their loved one, and new patients come in. The partner finally returns, with bloodshot eyes and a tired face, and we begin to navigate the long hallways that will lead us to the car.

We get home, and the partner falls fast asleep. I stay up for a little bit longer and once I hear the steady breathing next to me (that indicates an untroubled sleep), I put down my book, turn off the light, and snuggle in.