well, two out of two hospital visits in two months, and to paraphrase; i'm pretty enraged that one standard question that you're asked by staff/doctors/ambulance peeps alike is "on a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?"
i don't kmow. you tell me? why did it take a call for back up men, 5 men to lift me onto a stretcher, one to strap me in while i was flailing and yelling as if on a rollercoaster and not to mention in the glorious heart of parkdale last night? oh, also my favorite scent is basil, i prefer willow trees to birch, mood colour red, age group 18-25, dominant planet saturn... thanks cosmo, AM I NEEDY??!
fed up, last night i asked forcefully "SERIOUSLY??!? ONE TO TEN??!" and then they repeat the question as though it's the most mandatory medical question used to determine an injury. i responded TWENTY, even though i did however mean 45 BILLION INFINITY YOU ASSHOLES, MY KNEECAP LOOKS LIKE A GOLF BALL ORBITING WHAT USED TO BE A FUNCTIONAL JOINT.
on the upside i did get the presidential suite of the hospital , full fuctional surgery room, complete with knockout gas and right beside the airborne-disease-dying-people fishtank. on the downside, EVERYTHING. it's kinda hard to pinpoint whether it was the incident itself, the low blood pressure for the first time in my life resulting in the inability to get morphine throughout this, the 8 hrs in emerg, the fracture clinic 3 hrs later in the "morning", the wearing of this brace/splint/crutches for the next three weeks, or never having finished the croissant i was eating in the first place.
this whole situation between a dog, the best luck in the world, a croissant, a desk corner, and my knee cap is mostly just enraging. by pure fluke i'm left barely able to wipe my own ass in this stupid leg brace/stint for the next three weeks.
i hope i'll recover to play the clarinet again.