Anyway, unable to walk, I took a cab to St. Vincent's at 3pm on Saturday, and walked right into a made for TV scene - and Asian woman was reacting like an alien was about to pop out of her stomach - howling, laying on the floor, and arching her back like she was going through an Exorcism. It was freaky - and her two kids, a boy (about 10) and a girl (about 8) were bawling their eyes out as they watched their mom go bonkers.
Two minutes later, the woman was fine, and I asked the little guy, "Is that your mom?" He nodded. "She's gonna be ok - don't worry." He looked at me with wide eyes, unsure. "That was scary, huh?" I asked. He nodded. "She'll be fine," I hope I was right...
After that incident, there weren't any other stereotypical NYC ER scenes - just a bunch of weekend warriors (like myself) with sports-related injuries. A guy with an injured thumb... A guy with a busted ankle... A guy with a cut on his forehead...
I looked at the guy with the bad ankle, who was still wearing his tank top and athletic shorts. "Basketball?" I guessed. He nodded. "Soccer," I confessed, as they wheeled me to the FastTrack ward an hour later in a wheelchair, after taking my vitals (blood pressure good, temperature normal, pulse: 69). FastTrack is a new branch they have which is to treat non-life-threatening injuries, while the seriously injured people stay in the Triage ER section.
"Do you want some pain medication? We can give you a narcotic," The physician's assistant told me. "Yes, sure" I answered. "It will make you drowsy," she warned. Like I give a shit - give me the fuckin' percaset! They gave me one, and x-rayed my knee. X-rays were negative, of course, but they don't do MRI's in the ER - so I really don't know any more than I knew yesterday. They gave me a knee imobilizer, and a pair of crutches. The only problem is that the friggin' crutches hurt like hell to use! Now my armpits are bruised and killing me.
After an hour in the FastTrack ward I limped home. Eric came over later with his 5 month old baby boy, Luke.
"Luke, repeat after me: DOUCHEBAG. DOUCHEBAG. DOOOOOOSH BAAAAAG," I tried, but all luke would do was keep repeating a baby-babbly ga-ga that sounded like "All-in." Eric has already taught him well.
"Luke, Muh-ther-fuck-er" (Don't worry, I got permission to teach the kids bad words), but he just stared at me with empty eyes, and babbled "RAISE." Man this kid is tight aggressive.
I'm off to Philly for a wedding. Monday BBQ back here in NYC is imminent though.
until next time,