Visiting the Emergency Room

My mother was vomiting all day yesterday and said that she was feeling really dizzy which made her decide to want to visit the emergency room at the hospital. My first thought was that it wasn’t necessary. When dogs puke we yell at them for making a mess and put them in the corner.

Dr. Google’s opinion was that such a condition is usually not serious unless accompanied by other symptoms which she didn’t have. The scenario I imagined was that she ended up dying in her sleep and I would have to hide from the authorities that she wanted to see a doctor but I refused because I wanted to take a nap. It must be nice to be a sociopath.

It was my first experience in an emergency room. I’ve somehow managed to never fracture bones from snowboarding or accidentally drink too much bleach. Many in the emergency room seemed to be there for non-emergency reasons such as my mother’s condition. If everyone who was puking and felt dizzy visited the emergency room there would be a line-up out the door and around the Starbucks across the street.

Sitting there for hours I could hear patients explaining to the front desk what their issues were. One guy said, “I want to stop drinking.” In a less nice country one might have told him to go back home and stop drinking. Most patients who came in after us were called before us because they probably assessed that my mother was low priority. If you want to get in first for something trivial you should lie and say your pancreas is about to explode as well. Once you get in to see a doctor you tell them your pancreas feels better but you want your foot fungus to get checked out.

While in the waiting room I thought about how nice it was to be living in a country like this. The nurses and doctors know you’re probably fine and wasting everyone’s time and money but they still smile, speak politely and look up your bum if you tell them to.

They gave my mother some Gravol and she laid in a bed for 3 hours before discharging her saying everything was fine. I didn’t even think of trying Gravol first. It would have saved me 6 hours in the waiting room. I hope she feels guilty for not dying.



Piano and Life

There was frustration during my piano lesson due to my disappointing performance. It was frustrating because I practiced every day for the whole week and thought I was prepared. I don’t know, perhaps someone watching me and the difference in setting causes me some discomfort. Or maybe I didn’t practice enough. In my head I thought about burning my piano books and throwing them against a concrete wall. I QUIT! Then I thought how pathetic that would be.

During my internal tantrum I recalled a memory from several years ago. I used to fool around with the guitar with a few other guys who resisted the idea of attempting to improve at it. They instead preferred to strum the same song for hours each time we met. “Don’t you guys want to get better?” I asked. They replied with a friendly, “no.”

A thought crossed my mind during my piano lesson. What if I continued to practice and continued to suck? That would crush me since it could mean that I’m mentally disabled. I’d have to pack it in and resign from life, admit myself to the Centre for Ungifted Children. That’s why some people don’t even try. To them, failure would confirm their suspicions of their deficiencies.

I come from a group of guys who are all deficient in some manner which is the reason why we all came together in the first place. Some of them were able to muster up the appearance of some kind of success but there’s always traps set out to snag the ones who were programmed to fail. Some may have thought they were better than others in the group but no one was because if they were they would have moved on to something better.

That’s life for many or maybe even most people….they’re put on a path and then operate on auto-pilot. Over many years the deficiencies etch themselves a permanent place in the programming and instead of debugging, the tendency is to find a miserably comforting workaround.