My parents were fighting last night, I escaped the house by going for a walk. In the first 100 feet of my journey I felt something brushing against my leg, I looked down and it was a raccoon. We stared at each other a little while and then it bolted across the street. Later I found scratches on the leg where the raccoon had brushed against me. I don’t know where I got the scratches from but I assumed it would be safe to get the scratches checked out. About four hours ago I finally got around to it, I walked to the hospital down the road from my school and went to the emergency room. There I was to wait for hours before I saw a doctor.
It was a lot of boring. While I was waiting a woman next to me was getting prepared for a surgery where they would bend her femur back into shape, she was worried that after the surgery they would send her home that night. The doctors told her that they needed to because of lack of resources and I understood. But I also understood that it was an old lady with no one to call.
I too had a similar surgery back when I was 10 because I had broken my femur and it had bent straight again. The anethstetics they gave the woman knocked her out cold, a female nurse was amazed and honestly said “this is one for the journals”, I later heard she was given a dose for someone twice her weight. Mystery solved I guess (a thought came to me while I was waiting. Pretty much the worst career ever is a male gynecologist because after dealing with sick female reproductive organs all day the vagina would become the least erotic part of the body).
The doctor wasn’t too impressed with my story, I told her I wasn’t really sure given my tendency to be paranoid. She consulted public health who told her I was crazy. They sent me home and I assume if I wasn’t already on meds they would have given me some placebo pills.
Instead all I got was a crappy wristband. I guess if I die from the raccoon bite, it will at least be irony in it’s most poetic.