Hello, ER, my old friend …

It’s really not that good to see you again

I believe there is a point on which we can all agree, regardless of our feelings about the most recent election, the college football season, the moral fiber of the current World Series Champions, the state of Twitter or what is the best Halloween candy.

It’s far better to leave the emergency room vertical, under your own power, through the same doors by which you entered and the same day you entered them. And I’m not even sure that’s a matter open for discussion.

OK, a given: It’s best not to have to enter the doors in the first place. As Mark Twain said, it’s easier to stay out than get out. However, there are times in life when you don’t really have a choice, so you sort of have to pick between, as they say, being kicked or gouged. Which may explain why some folks are in the ER in the first place, but wasn’t why I was there.

There I was recently, for reasons that aren’t nearly as significant as most trips to the ER, but were obviously significant to me. Remember, “minor medical situations” are medical situations that impact someone else. When I head through those doors, it might not necessarily be a big deal, but it’s a big deal to me.

To be clear, going to the ER is not totally outside my realm of experience. I am a combination of clumsy, active and a father of four, so my most recent excursion wasn’t my first rodeo so to speak. Rodeos being another reason to go the ER, along with kicking and gouging. But not why I was there.

No, this most recent trip was a bit on the unusual side in that generally speaking I have a fairly good and obvious idea why I’m there. I mean, yes, I knew why I was there: I was in what passes for intense pain for me and is likely general discomfort for the average woman who has given birth, for instance. I didn’t say I was tough. I just said I’ve been to the ER a few times.

You see, when I wind up in the ER and the very nice people at the front desk ask me why I’m there, my answers usually start with things like “I fell off the roof of the house,” or “I apparently don’t have the hands to play second base, but I might very well have a broken rib” or “She stuck a rock up her nose and I don’t just really know where to go from here.”

This time it was more like “I can certainly give you some clues, but you’re going to have to tell me.” I imagine they appreciate that sort of response in an ER backed up with lots of people in some sort of medical distress. Again, I didn’t say I was an ER favorite. I just said I’d been there a few times.

Also, I’ve heard for years that married people tend to live longer. Why that’s the case for women I’m not sure, but for men, it’s likely because there is someone around to point out that being ashen-faced and doubled over in pain is likely not something that will go away on its own. Also, that they might likely have to drive you and they’re pretty sure we won’t be stopping off at the hardware store on the way.

And a word as to the makeup of emergency rooms themselves. It must be incredibly difficult knowing that whatever you’re doing for someone right now, it’s easier than the next thing you’re going to be doing for someone who is likely far more in need of your services. And knowing that will be the case literally all night. I’m not sure I could face that. I’m just glad there are folks who can.

As it turned out, after a little downtime, I’m fine. Or at least as fine as I was prior to my latest trip to the ER. I mean, everything is sort of relative.

But if recent events have taught me anything it’s that apparently I have reached the point in my life where there isn’t always really an obvious reason for things heading south, but they do, quickly and to impressive bad effect. Which means I need to do some things a little better and pay a little more attention.

Wow. Aging. Who knew it could be so much fun?

Also, the best Halloween candy is Reese’s. The cups, not the pieces. But I didn’t have to go the ER to know that.

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Gary Smith is a recovering journalist living in Rogers.

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