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Jun. 28th, 2010 12:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hnpccI am exhausted.
This is because Dean and I got home from the emergency department at the local hospital at 2.30am. I didn't make it to training - didn't think that going on 3 hours sleep was going to be a good thing - but I did make it to my 8.45am physio appointment. Although it did take me several minutes of driving before I noticed that my rear window was completely iced over and I had zero visibility through it. Thank God (a) it's school holidays and (b) I have mirrors on my car.
Why were we at the emergency department? The short version is that Dean managed to hit himself in the head with a guitar.
As you do.
No, really, I thought he'd have more hand:eye co-ordination by this point in his life. So, apparently, did he.
Anyway, as he was taking the guitar over his head he managed to hit himself just below his eyebrow on his eye socket. I was actually in the house at this point - I could hear him swearing from the other end. He looked fine, so I headed off to soccer, played, came home, we had tea. He sat on the couch grumbling about how much his head hurt. Then he got up and promptly started crashing into things, which is about the point that I googled "concussion symptoms" and decided that we should maybe go and see a medical professional of some variety to check he wasn't actually badly injured and about to die. I tried shining a torch into his eyes first, but all that really proved to me was that Dean has weirdly large pupils, which I already knew.
So off we went at 9.30pm. Getting out of the car at the hospital Dean managed to hit his head on the car door frame. Nothing like compounding the brain damage.
There is never a good time to visit the emergency department. If we knew of a 24 hour medical clinic anywhere closer than the suburb we used to live in we'd have gone there. But we didn't so the hospital it was. Everywhere was completely deserted... except of course the emergency department, which was bustling with kids who'd run into something, coughing kids, a baby who couldn't breathe well (and was ushered straight through, unsurprisingly), elderly people who'd fallen, middle aged people who'd cut themselves, the usual crowd. With the possible exception of about 3 people none of us actually needed the emergency department. What we need is a bloody 24 hour GP clinic. Any time the hospital would like to set one up would be fine by me. It'd probably take some of the strain off their emergency department for starters.
Anyway. We talked to the reception person. We sat down. About 10 minutes later we were ushered through to the triage nurse.
She took Dean's blood pressure, quizzed him on the injury, quizzed him on the level of pain he was in, and then told him his blood pressure was high.
"I think the headache is caused by the high blood pressure."
"I didn't have the headache until I hit myself in the head with the guitar."
We went back outside and settled in to wait. The one television in the main waiting area was broken. Fortunately I'd brought a book ("How Israel Lost: the Four Questions" by Richard Ben Cramer) so I wasn't too fussed. Other waiting people were though, and tried to fix it to no avail. Then they realised the one in the paediatric area was working, so all the World Cup watchers headed over there to watch England vs Germany which started at midnight. Dean dozed.
I bought a drink, and wandered past to check the score, which at that point was still nil all.
Time passed. I finished the book and am now curious as to the author's opinions of the current Israel/Palestine situation (the book is from 2004). I started reading Dean's book ("Midnight Runner" by Jack Higgins) while he continued to doze. It was... terrible actually, but still better than staring at the walls. Just.
12.30am passed. "If we don't get seen by 1.30am I think we should go home" said Dean.
1am passed.
At 1.15am the triage nurse came in calling Dean's name. We perked up.
"Oh I was just checking you hadn't gone home."
She went away again.
?!?!?
1.25am another person called Dean's name and this time we were ushered into the emergency department itself and shown to a cubicle. Dean sat on one chair, put his head on the bed and started dozing again. I kept reading this incredibly bad book, placing bets on who would die next. Around us the emergency ward was fairly bright and busy, with one staff member giving updates on the World Cup action ("Germany are up by 2").
1.40am - just as the action got really stupid in the book - another nurse came in, got Dean to sit on the bed, took his blood pressure again twice (the first time was so insanely high they redid it - the second was high but not "you are about to keel over at any moment" high, got him to go through the story again, laughed at him, and checked his pupils with a torch. The one new thing to come out of this was that while Dean hadn't had any nausea or vomiting he had actually no memory of whether he was sitting down or standing up when he was taking the guitar off, but he was definitely standing up when he carefully put it into the rack before starting to swear. Also? Initially blurry vision, but now he was just walking into things and had a splitting headache.
If he'd mentioned this to me earlier I could have dropped him at the emergency department, gone off and played soccer then come back and picked him up. Damn.
1.55am An intern appeared and went through pretty much everything that the nurse had, except the blood pressure. She decided to check with the registrar that he hadn't damaged his eye socket.
2am we could hear her telling the story on the other side of the emergency department, mostly because of the "how did he hit himself with a guitar?!" question.
2.05am the registrar came in and went over it again.
"You definitely hit yourself with a guitar?" he said, smiling. "Not someone else hitting you with it?" He looked pointedly at me.
I was too tired to say anything, while Dean explained again how he'd done it, pointing out that the main problem was the model of guitar - if it had been one of the other models he owns the body would have been lighter and the edges not as sharp. I finished the book - well that was a pointlessly obvious ending - while they checked his eye socket. Looked fine, wasn't damaged.
"You have a thick skull at that point" said the registrar, "well actually everyone does, not just you." He explained to the intern what she'd need to look for the next time someone came in with a similar injury.
They discharged us and we headed out to the lifts. Got out at two wrong floors before working out which one we'd come in on (Dear Hospital: any chance you'd like to put "Train Station Exit" on your in-lift list like you have on the one outside the lifts on the lowest level?)
"I should get a medical certificate" said Dean.
So back up we went, with Dean zombie shuffling the entire way. He went to get the certificate while I went to the loo and checked the South Korea/Argentina score (0:1) on the way past. Nicely hidden behind a pot plant near the loo was a poster:
"No, I didn't 'slip in the shower'. No, I didn't 'burn myself'. No, I didn't 'walk into something'." It was an anti-domestic abuse poster. There was no mention of guitars on there.
Clutching the certificate we headed back to the lifts, passing three security guards talking politely to a man who appeared to have camped out in the hospital lounge. Found the car, which was fortunately still there and undamaged. The air temperature had dropped considerably though. Went home. Dean took the strongest drugs we had (again) and we both crashed out.
Currently Dean's still asleep, and I think I will have to snooze a bit later. I'm going to have to google 24 hour medical clinics in this area though just in case he does it again. Given that I can't currently find a local doctor who is (a) taking on new patients and (b) open on weekends (I refuse to take half a day off work for a pap smear, that's bloody ridiculous) I don't like my odds.
This is because Dean and I got home from the emergency department at the local hospital at 2.30am. I didn't make it to training - didn't think that going on 3 hours sleep was going to be a good thing - but I did make it to my 8.45am physio appointment. Although it did take me several minutes of driving before I noticed that my rear window was completely iced over and I had zero visibility through it. Thank God (a) it's school holidays and (b) I have mirrors on my car.
Why were we at the emergency department? The short version is that Dean managed to hit himself in the head with a guitar.
As you do.
No, really, I thought he'd have more hand:eye co-ordination by this point in his life. So, apparently, did he.
Anyway, as he was taking the guitar over his head he managed to hit himself just below his eyebrow on his eye socket. I was actually in the house at this point - I could hear him swearing from the other end. He looked fine, so I headed off to soccer, played, came home, we had tea. He sat on the couch grumbling about how much his head hurt. Then he got up and promptly started crashing into things, which is about the point that I googled "concussion symptoms" and decided that we should maybe go and see a medical professional of some variety to check he wasn't actually badly injured and about to die. I tried shining a torch into his eyes first, but all that really proved to me was that Dean has weirdly large pupils, which I already knew.
So off we went at 9.30pm. Getting out of the car at the hospital Dean managed to hit his head on the car door frame. Nothing like compounding the brain damage.
There is never a good time to visit the emergency department. If we knew of a 24 hour medical clinic anywhere closer than the suburb we used to live in we'd have gone there. But we didn't so the hospital it was. Everywhere was completely deserted... except of course the emergency department, which was bustling with kids who'd run into something, coughing kids, a baby who couldn't breathe well (and was ushered straight through, unsurprisingly), elderly people who'd fallen, middle aged people who'd cut themselves, the usual crowd. With the possible exception of about 3 people none of us actually needed the emergency department. What we need is a bloody 24 hour GP clinic. Any time the hospital would like to set one up would be fine by me. It'd probably take some of the strain off their emergency department for starters.
Anyway. We talked to the reception person. We sat down. About 10 minutes later we were ushered through to the triage nurse.
She took Dean's blood pressure, quizzed him on the injury, quizzed him on the level of pain he was in, and then told him his blood pressure was high.
"I think the headache is caused by the high blood pressure."
"I didn't have the headache until I hit myself in the head with the guitar."
We went back outside and settled in to wait. The one television in the main waiting area was broken. Fortunately I'd brought a book ("How Israel Lost: the Four Questions" by Richard Ben Cramer) so I wasn't too fussed. Other waiting people were though, and tried to fix it to no avail. Then they realised the one in the paediatric area was working, so all the World Cup watchers headed over there to watch England vs Germany which started at midnight. Dean dozed.
I bought a drink, and wandered past to check the score, which at that point was still nil all.
Time passed. I finished the book and am now curious as to the author's opinions of the current Israel/Palestine situation (the book is from 2004). I started reading Dean's book ("Midnight Runner" by Jack Higgins) while he continued to doze. It was... terrible actually, but still better than staring at the walls. Just.
12.30am passed. "If we don't get seen by 1.30am I think we should go home" said Dean.
1am passed.
At 1.15am the triage nurse came in calling Dean's name. We perked up.
"Oh I was just checking you hadn't gone home."
She went away again.
?!?!?
1.25am another person called Dean's name and this time we were ushered into the emergency department itself and shown to a cubicle. Dean sat on one chair, put his head on the bed and started dozing again. I kept reading this incredibly bad book, placing bets on who would die next. Around us the emergency ward was fairly bright and busy, with one staff member giving updates on the World Cup action ("Germany are up by 2").
1.40am - just as the action got really stupid in the book - another nurse came in, got Dean to sit on the bed, took his blood pressure again twice (the first time was so insanely high they redid it - the second was high but not "you are about to keel over at any moment" high, got him to go through the story again, laughed at him, and checked his pupils with a torch. The one new thing to come out of this was that while Dean hadn't had any nausea or vomiting he had actually no memory of whether he was sitting down or standing up when he was taking the guitar off, but he was definitely standing up when he carefully put it into the rack before starting to swear. Also? Initially blurry vision, but now he was just walking into things and had a splitting headache.
If he'd mentioned this to me earlier I could have dropped him at the emergency department, gone off and played soccer then come back and picked him up. Damn.
1.55am An intern appeared and went through pretty much everything that the nurse had, except the blood pressure. She decided to check with the registrar that he hadn't damaged his eye socket.
2am we could hear her telling the story on the other side of the emergency department, mostly because of the "how did he hit himself with a guitar?!" question.
2.05am the registrar came in and went over it again.
"You definitely hit yourself with a guitar?" he said, smiling. "Not someone else hitting you with it?" He looked pointedly at me.
I was too tired to say anything, while Dean explained again how he'd done it, pointing out that the main problem was the model of guitar - if it had been one of the other models he owns the body would have been lighter and the edges not as sharp. I finished the book - well that was a pointlessly obvious ending - while they checked his eye socket. Looked fine, wasn't damaged.
"You have a thick skull at that point" said the registrar, "well actually everyone does, not just you." He explained to the intern what she'd need to look for the next time someone came in with a similar injury.
They discharged us and we headed out to the lifts. Got out at two wrong floors before working out which one we'd come in on (Dear Hospital: any chance you'd like to put "Train Station Exit" on your in-lift list like you have on the one outside the lifts on the lowest level?)
"I should get a medical certificate" said Dean.
So back up we went, with Dean zombie shuffling the entire way. He went to get the certificate while I went to the loo and checked the South Korea/Argentina score (0:1) on the way past. Nicely hidden behind a pot plant near the loo was a poster:
"No, I didn't 'slip in the shower'. No, I didn't 'burn myself'. No, I didn't 'walk into something'." It was an anti-domestic abuse poster. There was no mention of guitars on there.
Clutching the certificate we headed back to the lifts, passing three security guards talking politely to a man who appeared to have camped out in the hospital lounge. Found the car, which was fortunately still there and undamaged. The air temperature had dropped considerably though. Went home. Dean took the strongest drugs we had (again) and we both crashed out.
Currently Dean's still asleep, and I think I will have to snooze a bit later. I'm going to have to google 24 hour medical clinics in this area though just in case he does it again. Given that I can't currently find a local doctor who is (a) taking on new patients and (b) open on weekends (I refuse to take half a day off work for a pap smear, that's bloody ridiculous) I don't like my odds.
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no subject
Date: 2010-06-28 06:14 am (UTC)It's bad that I laughed.
Poor Dean.
*snicker*
You're in good company
Date: 2010-06-28 06:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-28 09:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-28 09:54 pm (UTC)The books were both library books - just grabbed the first two out of the pile. God Jack Higgins sucks.