I burned my hands mixing cement last year, and it looked and hurt so bad I thought I should go to the ER. In essence, I was given the cold shoulder, never even got to see a doctor, and was sent on my way with four tiny packets of Bacitracin for which I was charged some breathtaking amount. Suffice it to say, I was not impressed.
The pain really sets in when the bill arrives. That’s when you find you were the object of attention to a dozen or so people you never saw, but who saved you from imminent peril. It’s a wonder full world.
Close followers of the Frogg (and thank you!) know that Mr. Spaetzle’s broken rib episode is not wholly a product of imagination. Some of those readers scolded me for reaching the very crowded Emergency Department of my local hospital and doing an about-face after calculating (okay, guessing-to-manufacturing) and comparing the odds of there being anything that could be done for my pain and immobility to the odds of catching something worse, or at least additional, while spending hours in a confined space with a lot of people who were suffering from something more contagious than gravity.
Those who scolded me were right, of course, but it turned out I was, too. When I returned a week later and stuck around for X-rays and an actual diagnosis from someone more qualified than Dr. Jef, the real doctor just happened to agree with my unqualified self: There was nothing to be done. She even agreed that I probably made the good call by going home the previous week, while agreeing with my future scolders that I had gotten lucky and probably should consider erring on the side of caution next time. But we were both glad I eventually went in there. There’s something comforting about a diagnosis, even if there’s no treatment beyond “boy, that sucks.” That’s why I was glad. The doctor was probably just being empathetic and positive, though she may also have been glad to have an easy patient.
mddshubby2005 almost 5 years ago
Little pitchers have big ears – and none bigger than Caulfield’s.
Concretionist almost 5 years ago
One of my favorite fiction characters had a school class called Advertency. It’s important, sure ’nuff.
DBrannonWriter Premium Member almost 5 years ago
“Awareness is a work in progress” would look good on a t-shirt.
The Old Wolf almost 5 years ago
I burned my hands mixing cement last year, and it looked and hurt so bad I thought I should go to the ER. In essence, I was given the cold shoulder, never even got to see a doctor, and was sent on my way with four tiny packets of Bacitracin for which I was charged some breathtaking amount. Suffice it to say, I was not impressed.
jpayne4040 almost 5 years ago
Awareness is always a work in progress!
sandpiper almost 5 years ago
The pain really sets in when the bill arrives. That’s when you find you were the object of attention to a dozen or so people you never saw, but who saved you from imminent peril. It’s a wonder full world.
asrialfeeple almost 5 years ago
The Emergency Room usually creates an emergengy for your finances.
cervelo almost 5 years ago
I’m surprised nobody commented on “Health Care” costs, universality, etc. It is very topical these days.
soaringblocks almost 5 years ago
a good one. Again!
Night-Gaunt49[Bozo is Boffo] almost 5 years ago
Blog PostsFrazz19 hrs ·
Close followers of the Frogg (and thank you!) know that Mr. Spaetzle’s broken rib episode is not wholly a product of imagination. Some of those readers scolded me for reaching the very crowded Emergency Department of my local hospital and doing an about-face after calculating (okay, guessing-to-manufacturing) and comparing the odds of there being anything that could be done for my pain and immobility to the odds of catching something worse, or at least additional, while spending hours in a confined space with a lot of people who were suffering from something more contagious than gravity.
Those who scolded me were right, of course, but it turned out I was, too. When I returned a week later and stuck around for X-rays and an actual diagnosis from someone more qualified than Dr. Jef, the real doctor just happened to agree with my unqualified self: There was nothing to be done. She even agreed that I probably made the good call by going home the previous week, while agreeing with my future scolders that I had gotten lucky and probably should consider erring on the side of caution next time. But we were both glad I eventually went in there. There’s something comforting about a diagnosis, even if there’s no treatment beyond “boy, that sucks.” That’s why I was glad. The doctor was probably just being empathetic and positive, though she may also have been glad to have an easy patient.