I sat patiently in the cold metal chair, suspiciously eyeing the nurse as she stabbed my arm for the fourth time.
N: “What was your pain level again?”
Me: “About 10. Or 9. My fever’s almost 105, so I think I might be burning. From the inside.”
*pause*
Me: “Maybe if you wrote it down on the chart, it’d be easier to remember. You know, the pain level 10 thing. Written notes really help me.”
N: “Oh, yeah. Just as soon as I find this…. wait…nope, not yet. Sorry this is taking so long!”
Me: “That’s okay. Are you new?”
N: “9 years and counting!”
Me: “Oh.”
I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, considering the germs that were finding their way into my skin while I sat in this white-walled, windowless cave.
N: “Do you know your wristband is wrong?”
Me: “Oh, yeah. My name is misspelled. I tried really hard to convince your receptionist guy to give me one with my actual name on it. He tried 3 times and the best we could get was Ann Taylir. He decided it didn’t really matter.”
The nurse raised one eyebrow sharply, and ripped the needle she had just placed securely into my arm back into her not-so-steady fingers.
N: “We can’t go any further until we get that fixed!”
She took out a skinny permanent marker, and scribbled roughly onto the long piece of white paper-plastic blend.
N: “… t-a-y-l-O-r. There”.
*pause*
She flipped my arm over, and began to lower the needle towards my crazy-drug-addict looking arm.
N: “So WHAT was your pain level? 4? You look great! Like, maybe a 2.”
And then my head exploded.
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