Driving to the ER at Poudre Valley Hospital in terrible pain after an inadvertent intake of bleach from an improperly rinsed water line was bad enough.
Poor Sophie waited patiently on the filthy floors of the exam room, on what I can only now think of as “urbanized.” Evidently there’s a regular flow of who-knows-what kind of people through there with who-knows-what conditions.
But if you knew what to look for you’d find enough evidence of the medical emergencies right there on the floor, and the stools and the exam table. While Sophie lay stiffly in pain on the floor I couldn’t bear to sit down in there, preferring to stand despite my pain. I did, however open the door to the exam room as opposed to feeling like a kennelled specimen. The ER staff, I could tell wanted nothing to do with us.
The doctor, a gangly, baby-faced redheaded kid had a somewhat condescending approach to what was bothering me, asking then answering questions as if trying to predict what mine might be:
“Well, your tests all came back fine and there’s no evidence of any abnormalities. Does this mean that you shouldn’t follow up with a GI specialist? No, you should do so on Monday, during regular business hours.”
As if I hadn’t or wouldn’t have thought of that myself. “So, does this mean I should have waited until Monday?” I ask “No, Dr. Dipshit, I couldn’t wait until Monday, and that’s why I came to the ER in the middle of the night.”
But forget about all that ridiculous posturing; I walked in to an ER after driving myself there; no gurney, no spurting blood, and I didn’t even want a wheelchair. I couldn’t be that acute, it must be a figment of my imagination..
It was still a big step for me, given how I have such difficulty asking others for help. Oh, yeah and there’s that time I nearly died in a hospital that became my home for several days. Unaware of all this, ER staff draws their own jaded conclusions. But it was a big step for me, indeed.
Anyway, I realized that the pain Sophie was feeling-I put the pillow from the exam table onto the floor for her to curl up on-as far as I know it’s still down there-plus my own discomfort would have best been left for us to suffer alone. Going to the ER was a terrible mistake for, once in there, turning back was not an option. Unless you wanted to be pegged as crazy, I guess.
Speaking of: Upon our discharge, Sophie and I retired to the RV to prepare for the return drive to Cheyenne. First, though I decided to take a nap. The painful drive down from Wyoming, followed by the awkward ER visit left me exhausted.
At some point during my nap I awoke to hear something scuffling along the back of the RV, as if someone were doing calisthenics on the bumper. Still in my boxers I rose and went to the door, opened it and shouted “Hey!” in my most irritated tone. I closed the door and went back to bed. All was quiet, but it didn’t last.
More noises from back there soon followed so I took a minute to throw on some shorts while telling Sophie to “Get ready.” Taking her out to confront some weird situation was the last thing I wanted to ask her to do given her earlier patience. But I knew she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Once dressed I followed Sophie out the door and went around back to see for myself. I was aggravated at having my nap interrupted. To my surprise, I found a nicely dressed young man standing back there. The surprise of it was disarming to me though not enough to make me conceal my irritation.
“What on earth are you doing back here?” I asked him. “I’m the director of hospital security,” he said, then pointed up to the roof of my RV. Sure enough, there sat, cross-legged and without a care in the world an unshaven and clearly homeless, mentally ill man. His prototypical appearance gave him away, a Charles Manson-esque clone, complete with the wild-eyed stare. No swastika carved above his nose, though.
Still, as quite at home as he seemed to be-and as suddenly and rudely awakened as I’d just been pieces of our earlier experience began falling into place. The man, who wore no pants claimed he was up there just to “see what I could see” did happen to wear a hospital wristband.
Oddly enough the police who arrived appeared to have found his pants in the bushes and then it became clear to me: The dismissive sentiment I gathered from the ER staff probably sees this sort of thing from this kind of disturbed person often.
Why would they think that I, having been off-grid with Sophie for the past few weeks was any different? Perhaps more to the point, why would I think of myself as any different? Around these people I’m hard-pressed to not see a lot of myself in them; if it weren’t for the RV Sophie and I would be out on the street, too.
As it stands I’ve nowhere to park it anyway and no gas to get us anywhere, so we’re stuck here in Ft Collins for the duration of the month. Maybe our last ten bucks will get us back to Wyoming where we’ve got a campsite and even a clean, hot shower. It’s right along the highway and some Union Pacific tracks to boot but it seems idyllic right now. Maybe Sophie can convalesce a little from her injuries yesterday.
Though I can’t help but wonder what attracted that weird guy to my camper and to climb the ladder as if he had every right to do so alarms me. What is it about my energy that drew this guy to me? And why did he give me his creepy “What the hell are you looking at?” glance as he stepped off the ladder? It scared me and, quite frankly I’m always scared enough in town now. Ft Collins has changed dramatically over the last twenty years and, from what I can tell not much of it’s for the better.
I’m just biding my time with Sophie until it’s time to go again and then we’re off. Take that as you wish, but that’s a mindset I’ve long had wherever Sophie and I have traveled. Who knows what tomorrow will bring is a loaded question and has been for some time. It’s the essence of a nomadic lifestyle and, as I state in this post title I’m getting too old for this shit. I’m ready to quit and, as soon as Sophie gives me the sign we will glory in our successes and cut our losses and see what awaits us elsewhere.
It’s been a good trip already; I don’t wish to see it spoiled with a sad and/or violent ending. We’ve survived our share of that already and deserve so much better.
I hope we get to the place where we can finally get the goodness we deserve.
Droptrow Homeless Guy On Our Roof
No comments:
Post a Comment