Agraphia Medical Tragicomedy


The Endless Tide Of Unwashed Humanity

Faceless children throng through the doors of the Peds ER; parents, illnesses, charts all flowing into one feverish, runny-nosed amalgamation.

The waiting room is full of these kids. Anyone who didn't have the flu before, does now. It takes 7 hours to be seen, plenty of time for snotty hands to wipe all over the tables, the chairs, the playthings.

I vaguely listen to my voice on autopilot, droning on about the benefits of motrin and tyenol for fevers. I'm surprised to hear myself lose patience with a particularly insistent mother who wants her daughter hospitalized for a fever of 101.3 and a cough. Her kid is fine. She won't take no for an answer. We get security to escort her out.

This isn't fun. At one point I see 8 children in a row who I diagnose with the cold. The monotony is broken by a child with a cut on his finger, but he starts screaming the second I enter the room. We have to sedate him before I can sew it up. He hates me for it, and his mom judges my repair every step of the way. I look too young, she explains. My next 5 patients all have the cold. Nothing about this is enjoyable or fulfilling.

The shift ends with a whimper, as we finally clear out the waiting room 15 minutes before I'm scheduled to leave. My last patient is a kid with a cough. I send him home with tylenol for the fevers. The parents can't believe they waited eight hours for me to tell them that. I can't believe they did either.