by Luke Dearden

Created on: May 19, 2009   Last Updated: May 23, 2009

Thank You, Emergency Room!

When someone gets a serious injury, it is only natural for that person to be taken, or take themselves into the emergency room. I, having to go there twice in two weeks myself, have come to conclude that the U.S. emergency room system is almost, if not completely flawless. If you are skeptical of what I think, an astonishing 89.2% of emergency-room goers think the same as I do. In fact, to prove my point, let me tell you a few of my experiences.

About 2 weeks ago, my right foot and ankle was badly injured in soccer practice. The next day, my mom and I drove into the emergency room, on account of my regular doctor was sick. We parked about 2 blocks away because there was no other available parking due to construction. This I understood completely. Some time or another they had to add on to the hospital. If I was minutes from death, my mom would have probably dropped me off by the door, while she parked, but because I only had a small foot injury, I endured hobbling the 2 blocks.

They sat me down and took me through an hour of necessary paper work. During this time my blue, swollen foot was only hurting a tiny bit. Soon, about 2 hours after my arrival, the doctor looked at my foot, gently moved my foot into extremely uncomfortable positions to take x-rays, and then sent me home with a boot. I couldn't have asked for better care, and it only cost our insurance $1,200.

On Thursday, and even worse injury happened to me while I was playing bump. My lower leg came out of joint from my knee. This was rather disturbing. Once again, my mom and dad took me into the emergency room. I couldn't walk, so luckily the hospital staff had provided and ambulance parking spot for us right near the door. My dad went into the hospital to get staff members to help me out of the car with a stretcher. Again, they spent a while doing perfectly necessary paper work, while I was in the car staring at my deformed and broken, but unhurt leg.

In time, two old ladies came out with a stretcher, and gloriously brought me in. While in there, I was asked exactly 10 times what had happened. I enjoyed this each time. I mean it wasn't like I was in pain or anything, so, making up new stories to tell to each person gave me something that got my mind off the screaming person in the next room. Next, the old ladies spent a half an hour trying to stick an IV into my arm. While this was going on they asked me what my level of pain was between 1 and 10 about 8 times. I said a different number each time. Finally, they were successful, and for the rest of my visit, I admired them for there perseverance.

Next they took x-rays, and they went very well. After the doctor looked at them, he told my dad the prognosis, but failed to tell me. This was fine with me because I realized that the doctor was extremely busy. I didn't want to know anyway. After about ten more minutes my dad told me that I was going to have surgery. I had no idea what they were going to do inside my knee, but I fully trusted the doctor. The next thing I knew my parents were saying good bye, and they were taking me into the operating room.

I came out of the hospital a brand new man, and I was sorry that I couldn't thank the nurses for the excellent room service. This was provided at 2 a.m., 3:30 a.m., 5:00a.m., and 6:30a.m. when they woke me up to check my heart rate, my blood pressure, and of course to ask about my level of pain again. Yes, I got home, and have been laying on my back for almost 48 hours now, truly a new man. After this, I am thankful, that our country has such a speedy, affordable, information giving, emergency system with plenty of space to comfortably help me, and others in need.

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