The Tale of Ebola Pepper.

Let me preface this post with the statement that NO I DO NOT THINK DR. PEPPER IS INFECTED WITH EBOLA.

Now then, on with the story. Lately, in the last month and a half, I have been accident prone. First, while shaving candle wax down to prep for making new candles out of old ones, I cut pretty deep into my right index finger by accident. Bled like a stuck pig because it was right on the knuckle, but looked worse than it really was. Once that had finally healed up, a few days later I was attempting to put a new hook on the back of my mum’s bedroom door when the screw slipped and a power drill went through my right middle finger. Last week, that finally finished healing and dealing with itself.

Last night, I was getting up from my bed, my big toe (on the right, driving foot of course) caught in the bed-frame. Momentum being what it was and it already too late to stop, I sliced my toe open. Thankfully, it isn’t broken. Bone is bruised all to heck, but basically tissue damage only.

Had my mom drive me to the ER (did I mention this was on my driving foot?) where after being taken right back for triage, I continued to wait in the waiting room for an additional 2 1/2 hours. During that time I was taken back for an x-ray of my foot and promised a pain killer. The pain killer came 3 hours after I was told they were bringing one to me.

During the time in the waiting room, I saw a 25 day old baby (which I was so very glad to see taken in ahead of me. As a new parent myself, I know how difficult being in the waiting room of an ER in the middle of the night can be with a little one. ) Also taken in ahead of me were a little girl with high fevers and strep throat, another little girl who I really hope what I think might have happened didn’t happen at all. (I’m just going to say that police were called the moment her stepfather showed up because he called them for the girl’s mother, and from snippets of conversation I accidentally overheard, I REALLY hope it’s not what I think.) And a little old lady who came in with a severe nose bleed and blood pressure issues. It was so bad that she started to choke, so another patient in the waiting room started treating her right then and there. Well, of course having a patient (who turns out to be in a nurse training program herself) actually treating another patient in the hospital is a liability, so they took the woman to the back without even catching her name. Hours later, they would be calling for her in the waiting room. Half an hour later they called for her at the registration window.

Now then, with my pain level holding at a constant 6, spiking at an 8 periodically, it was hard to focus on anything else. My last hour in the waiting room, my mom, sleep drunk and exhausted, is looking around and wondering when housekeeping would be sweeping through because there was trash littering the place. Thus begins the epic tale of Ebola Pepper. What follows is a word for word transcript of my mother’s observations:

There’s a Dr. Pepper under that chair.

Don’t know how long it’s been there.

Might be ebola Pepper.

The closest I’ve been to a Dr. all night.

Dr. Pepper, hey! He’s making house calls!

Probably what the real doctor’s doin’ – hiding under a chair havin’ a power nap.

I should come back tomorrow – see if it’s still there.

I wanna see That Guy pick it up. I wanna see That Guy be the one to open it. It’ll be That Guy. I do, I wanna see the one who finally picks it up. Hell I dunno – they might need a hazmat team. Ebola Pepper!

Straight from Sierra Leone, Ebola Pepper Hey! Special shipment – they FedExd that sucker!

I was taken back into a room within the hour after this.

When we left at 2:30AM, the Dr. Pepper was no longer under the chair. Somewhere out there is That Guy. And we will never truly know what was in that Dr. Pepper or why it was there.

And, as a bonus, here is a special line about the nosebleed woman. As I stated earlier, they took her back once another patient started to help her. Far too long later, they finally called her for her turn to go to triage and then registration. Here is what my mom had to say about that when they called for her.

“They took her back there. They took her back there, shut the door to triage, and she bled to death. Because she was bleeding, and they didn’t want to deal with it like they should have.”


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