This is why the E.R. need some fixin'

It was a cloudy day. Third day of the year. The year was fresh. The house still lingered of Christmas. Things were slowly getting back to the regular pace of the day. The hour was 6. When the horror struck!! DUN DUN DUN! 

We had a bee infestation in my house. I had been stung a few times when I was younger, and had to see the doctor. I was living my fun life in the midst of the stinging little monsters that chose to dwell in the same residence I was living in. Me, with a bee allergy unbeknownst to most people, and bees, the cause of the allergy. This was not going to be a good combination. I remember I had friends over in 6^th grade to come spend the night and swim. We were enjoying the warm August day when bees started flying around us and we began to kill them. We killed probably around one hundred bees that day. I’m not even over-exaggerating. That cluster of bees probably knew that day as the Massacre at the Pool-Side. Slowly they were rebuilding their army and plotting their revenge. If only I had known. 

Back in November I was walking in my house, barefoot, when one little bugger stung me on the foot. I’ll leave out the gory details but I experienced an allergic reaction and just took a few Benadrylls and went to bed, but I couldn’t walk for a week. Shortly after, my mom asked my doctor for a prescription for an Epipen;  a dose of a certain type of medicine to curb the allergic reaction and potentially save the life of the person in need. Just two weeks ago, I was going to the bathroom and saw a little bee dying and hovering around. I ignored it, thinking it would die on its own. Long story short, a couple of hours later, the stupid bee found its way to me and stung me on my other foot. I screamed, I cried, my mom stabbed my thigh with the Epipen. 

Emergency room was a necessity after that. Alright here’s where my story gets fun. And when I say fun, I’m being sarcastic. In no way was it fun. Except for people watching. It makes you realize how screwed up our health care system is. And before you agree or disagree with me, I don’t know how to fix it and am not going to pretend to. All I know is that it’s messed up and needs to be fixed. Anyways, so there were some characters in this place. Some normal people just looking for relief, and some not normal people who were really creepy. 

My favorite person was the lovely ER nurse who took to being a total jerk to me. This is the point I want to make. If you are going to be a rude inconsiderate jerk, maybe this isn’t the profession for you. Taking your frustration out on the patient is not going to make your job easier. This tool for a nurse looked like a Jersey-Shore wannabe, with his gross five o’clock shadow, distinct walk, and his demeanor. He cussed while walking away from talking to me about how I shouldn’t even be there. We exchanged a few “pleasantries.”  Then the doctor came in and he was nice. I appreciate him. 

Until he started hitting on my mom. Like really dude? You’re wearing a wedding ring, get out of here. What makes you think my mom is interested. The place was super creepy. They were supposed to be monitoring me, but very little monitoring took place. When I had to go to the ER because of chest pains in April, at least people paid attention to me. Granted, it was chest pains. But still! I managed to look cute that day, and I think that was the real reason. I was paid an infinite amount of attention, and what did I get this time? Diddly-squat. 

While waiting for hours on end, I managed to snap a few pictures and my mom and I wrote a song to the tune of 12 Days of Christmas (sort of):

12 Ghetto people,
11 Babies screaming,
10 Seconds with the Epipen,
9^th day of Christmas,
8 Minutes on the phone (with the pharmacist to direct us how to use said Epipen),
7 Facebook notifications,
6 Angry nurses,
5 Icky pills (to calm the reaction),
4 Dollars worth of fast food,
3 Hours of waiting,
2 Worried parents,
And 1 E.R. Visit.

So it doesn’t fit exactly, but eh, it’s still moderately funny.

And for  your viewing pleasure, here are the pictures I took:

 

So this is the room they put me in to "monitor" me.

 

 I took a picture to demonstrate the crappy craftsmanship, has little to do with anything. 

 

The violent Epipen my mom used on me.

So all in all it was not fun but at least it prompted my parents to call an exterminator. No more bees reside in the house. So hopefully this will never happen again, but if it does, at least I have a song to occupy my mind.