We knew we were taking a chance.
The health benefits I had through my night job weren't much -- but they were something. When the contract was finished in December, I was let go. I had the option to continue our benefits at our own cost. Yeah, whatever. Working contract on the day job, maybe 15 billable hours a week, doesn't leave much left over after the rent is paid.
It wasn't much of an injury. Some sort of bug bite on her ankle, picked up when she was gardening probably. She didn't even notice it when she got bit -- it wasn't until later that evening that she saw the bite mark.
The next morning, Wednesday, she smeared some antibiotic ointment on it and poked it with a needle to get the pus out. Seemed to work all right. Just a little bite site surrounded by a small ring of red skin. She smeared some more ointment on it and covered it with a Band-aid.
Thursday morning, the red area is a bit bigger, and it's hot. She changed the Band-aid (with more antibiotic), kept it elevated on the stool. Thursday night, the red area is a bit bigger, the hot area is a bit bigger. No money for the doctor -- there's maybe a hundred bucks in the checking account.
Friday morning, it's about the same as Thursday. Still red, still hot. She keeps icing it and changing the bandaid. Payday -- a bit less than $900, but rent is $600, car insurance is over $100, the car registration is due Saturday. Neither of us speak about going to the doctor. Both hoping it's going to get better.
Saturday, and it's not better. More redness, more hot area, swelling, pain. I have to go to work, change a battery in a customer's network room. Maybe it'll be better Sunday.
Sunday, yesterday, she sleeps late. I hope it's better. A bit after 8 AM, she hops / limps into the living room. I don't need to ask if it's better.
"We're going to the emergency room. Now."
She's holding on to me, crying. "I'm sorry, 'm sorry..."
She hobbles back into the bedroom and changes her clothes. I go out to the car and check the oil and water. It's a heap, almost twenty years old. Wish we could take the good car, the one with air conditioning, but its inspection sticker expired a month ago and it won't pass inspection without several hundred dollars of repairs. The heap is a day overdue on registration, but its inspection sticker is good until next March.
I drop her off at the ER, circle around the block and find a parking space, come back. She's in a wheelchair with the leg sort of propped up. It's about 8:40.
9:10, it's our turn to answer questions. Bug bite, don't know from what, probably not a fire ant. Allergic to penicillin and all its relatives. Not under a doctor's care. No insurance. Back to the waiting room.
10:00, she's moaning, almost crying. I ask how much longer it's going to be. "Not long, just a couple of people ahead of you now."
10:15, she's still in a lot of pain. I push her wheelchair around in front of the receptionist's desk. A few minutes later, a nurse comes up. "They're discharging several people right now, it'll just be a few more minutes. We'll get you in and get you some pain medication."
10:30, we're finally in the emergency room proper. A med student comes in, asks the same questions the receptionist asked, pokes at the ankle. She almost levitates off the bed. A few minutes, the med student comes back with a doctor. He asks a couple of questions (no new ones), pokes at the ankle. It still hurts, apparently. "Yeah, we'll probably have to open it up. We'll get you some pain medication real soon."
11:20, a third doctor comes in. Asks the same questions, pokes at the wound. Same response from my wife. "We'll get you some pain medication real soon." A nurse comes in, sets an I.V. They're talking about admitting her now for a course of I.V. antibiotics. It's starting to get crowded in the exam room, so we decide I'll go home, she'll call when she's admitted.
1:30, no call from her. I message her phone, ask her to call when possible.
2:00, she calls back. She hasn't had anything to eat. She's still in the E.R. Doesn't know what her inpatient room number will be yet.
4:00, call her. She's still in the E.R. She's still had nothing to eat, but the cafeteria opens at 5:00. I offer to bring something, but someone just said they'll be admitting her in a just a few minutes.
6:00, call her. She's still in the E.R. She got something to eat. They'll be admitting her in just a few minutes. She must have gotten some pain meds, she doesn't sound in too bad a way.
7:45, she calls. She's crying, moaning. She's STILL in the E.R., on a gurney in front of the reception desk. I get in the heap, drive down to the hospital. She's not there.
"Where's my wife?"
"Oh, is she a patient here?"
No, you stupid fuck, I just thought I'd try looking here because it's on the way to the swanky nightspots. Must maintain control -- two city cops at a desk behind me are there for a reason. Before Gomer can find her on the computer, she calls. She's been admitted, she's on her way up to her room. I walk over, I'm there for five minutes before the orderly rolls her up.
She's still in a lot of pain, and not tracking outside information very well. The nurse tries to get her attention, then taps on her calf above the bandage. SHE TAPPED ON MY WIFE'S INJURED LEG. Jesus Christ, lady, where did you learn your patient care skills, Abu FUCKING Ghraib?
They get her off the gurney and onto the bed. Ten minutes later, the nurse (not Nurse Ratched, the other one) gets her a pain injection, then starts asking a few questions. The same damn questions she answered eleven hours ago. Maybe it's to make sure she's not faking. Twenty minutes later, she starts the I.V. antibiotics, the I.V. antibiotics they said they'd start NINE HOURS AGO.
A few minutes later, she's starting to drift off, so I leave. I'm angry, and ashamed. Angry at the "care" she got, and ashamed that I can't afford insurance for us.