We had a bit of a medical incident yesterday. It wasn’t life threatening, but was surely serious all the same. We encountered the already developing situation by way of a phone call. We were almost back to the cabin. We were getting the mail when Anne’s phone rang. Fortunately, while we were away cousin Anne was near by and called 911. We arrived to chaos, but the EMT, preceded by their advance party soon arrived on the scene. After some probing, questioning and bandaging the visiting medical professionals were mollified enough to allow the lot of us to troop down to the hoosegow on our own recognition. I drove, speeding all the way or in Michigan parlance, going with the traffic flow. We made it safely. Then the waiting commenced, but isn’t that what you do in ‘jail’?
When we first arrived at the ER, I thought that we might have caught a bit of a triage break. The next four hours proved that hope hopelessly wrong. Part of the problem was that soon after we were admitted, two other patients with chest pains were also admitted. I’m sure chest pains trump stitches, even in an 88-year-old, at least with the triage nurse. The first chest pains patient was a big old guy, the usual suspect, but he didn’t seen too concerned with the prospect of a heart attack. Maybe this wasn’t his first rodeo? Anyway, he joked with the admitting attendant, before he was wheeled away.
The second chest pain that presented immediately seemed way more serious than the first. There was a reverse Jack Sprat dichotomy with this couple, because the husband was fat as all could be, while his wife was as skinny as a rail and it was the wife that was presenting. She was in obvious pain and was even having trouble standing. The clueless admitting attendant eventually picked up on this distress and got her a wheelchair and then whisked her quickly away through the double-doors. Near our four-hour mark, I saw the husband again and asked him how his wife was doing? He said that there were still many hours yet to know and that it was going to be a long night. Anyway, we made it back to the cabin and shared a pizza dinner together with Anne Emily.
When I first walked the beach this morning there was plenty of evidence of last night’s bug bacchanalian orgy. The sand was littered with the carcasses of dead mayflies. It wasn’t the sight of their corpses that first caught my attention, but rather the snap, crackle and pop sounds that my footsteps made whenever I stepped on one and crushed its exoskeletons. I was confused by the sound at first and thought it might be some sort of novel settling of the sand. I soon put two-and-two together, because there were enough bodies littering the beach that you could have walked from one end to the other without ever touching sand. Pretty gross huh? Well. that’s nature for you though.