Digging up old memories...another story

In the summer of '95, I changed jobs. For someone who goes through med management et al., this meant that I could:
  1. stay in the job that was driving me slowly over the edge...but get insurance coverage!
  2. change jobs and but pay for my own med management for a year until my "pre-existing clause" expired.
  3. change jobs, join the HMO for coverage, and be forced to change doctors. Start diagnosis and treatments all over again because "continuation of care" is not a phrase recognized by most HMO's. A foot is a foot with any doctor, a brain is a brain with any doctor, right?
I joined the HMO. A bad move in hindsight. Ah well.

The new doc "re-diagnosed me", took me off of the meds I was on, and put me on new meds. A WHOLE LOT of meds. Meds on top of meds. Whoo. I needed meds for my med side effects. It was more than a med cocktail, it was a MED BUFFET!

After many sleepless nights and hallucinating that I was seeing people walking through my living room, I decided enough was enough. I grabbed my purse, hailed a cab in my pajamas, and went to the ER. This did not actually happen in a straightforward manner, but I have little memory of it. I'm sure the cab driver is still recovering.

I sat there--waiting--in an Emergency Room in downtown Chicago--alone and out of it. I had been crying, I was in my pajamas, I hadn't showered or eaten in days. I was a graduate school student with a full time job and a nice apartment who was melting down in tiny scattered droplets of mental mercury all over the floor.

I remember only one thing from my wait there.

Some guy two chairs away tried to get my phone number for a date.

Now, I am not gorgeous. And certainly not so with greasy hair, glasses, a thousand-mile stare, bad breath, all teary and mucus-slimed, and wearing sweats. If I had been less out of it, I would have smacked this guy upside the head with my purse. After I stared at him, he just got up and WALKED OUT! He didn't need to be there! He was actually cruising the ER!

What WHACKED A** FETISH do you have to have to be JONESIN' for some EMERGENCY ROOM PATIENT???!!! This is weirder than feet. This is more pathetic than getting stomped on by some chick in high heels.

And that guy? A helluva lot crazier than me, if you ask my opinion.

He probably works for an HMO.


At 12:56 PM, Blogger EJ said...

You know...you have a fantastic way of writing about these horrific, life scarring events and still cracking us all up. Here I was ready to be in tears with you over this horrible doctor and by the end in I was in tears laughing....You are so awesome!


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