The lifeguard who came to my rescue, after I dislocated my
shoulder at the beach, drove my friend and I to the Cornwall Regional Hospital
free of charge. I was grateful not to pay the exorbitant cost proposed by the
rasta taxi man. After pulling up to the
entrance of the emergency room, my friend decided to go ahead to prepare the
hospital staff for my coming. At least John the Baptist got to get his message
out before he was stopped, my friend stood no chance, as she was blocked from
entering because she was “inappropriately dressed.”
She angrily came back to the car, while the lifeguard was
cautiously helping me out of the car and into a wheelchair provided by a porter. Although born in Jamaica, she lives in the
United States where she is a nurse and she could not understand how she was not
allowed to enter as this was an emergency and the incident happened on a beach,
which would account for being dressed in a wrap over her swimsuit. I was happy
they let me in. I too was in a swimsuit
and only had my Canadian friend’s warp as a sling. Oh yes, and I did have my shorts on since the
lifeguards and my friend was able to get it on back at the beach. You would be surprised how many persons it
takes to put on the shorts of someone with a dislocated shoulder.
Well, again our lifeguard, who was seeming more and more like an
angel, saved the day. He literally gave
her the shirt off his back. Now, my
friend, decked out in a lifeguard shirt could make her way into the hospital
and be what I felt was my life support.
The porter wheeled me slowly in front of a large door that said
“Triage.” The lady who was sitting waiting by the door smiled at me. I inquired of her how long I would have to
wait and she said a while, but my go-getter friend came back and I was next up. The lady who may have been waiting a while watched me go through. She was a veteran of the hospital system and she had a green card, which she knew was the symbol of a long wait as the two other colors took priority.
When I was brought into the small triage room a female Asian doctor sat at the desk. If I were not in so much pain, I would have asked her what country she was from, but my spasms kept on kicking and I was taking a licking. She asked what was wrong and I explained by injury. She told me once I had a dislocation, it was easy for my shoulder to get out of place. Those weren’t the words I wanted to hear, but I had no time for self-pity.
The doctor determined the severity of my injury and awarded me a red card. If I were playing football, seeing this card would have meant that I would have been
kicked out, but this card in the ER meant I was on the top of the list to go
through as I had a “real” emergency. Next stop – the vital signs and pain relief room.
My friend wheeled me through a packed waiting area and actually
bounced into a couple people to my dismay as every sudden move delivered a
sharp jab in my arm. There was a bit of
confusion about whether to go to registration or to go get my vital signs. My
friend deemed it fit to register later.
She pushed our way through another crowded waiting area and parked me in a corner.
On arriving outside this other examination room, she handed the red card
to a nurse who came out of the room. She
looked at it and gave it back to the annoyance of my friend, then without saying
a word went back in the room. Not long after, another lady, who we later found
out was a nursing student, came out and my friend gave her the papers from the
triage and pointed out that I had a red card.
Success!!! I was brought in and to my horror was told to get up and bend
over as I had to get an injection in my butt.
Being injury prone, I have frequented many emergency rooms and doctors,
but I think the last time I got a shot in the buttocks I was about six years
old. Needless to say, I was not happy as
I had to make movements that I did not want to make as they would leave me
hurting even more. But, I kept hope alive as this injection was to assuage my
pain.
Unfortunately, the relief was not as much as I hoped for, but I
had to continue on my journey to wellness.
Now, on to the x-ray room. The
student nurse directed us and my friendly friend asked her if she wanted to
keep on practicing in Jamaica. She
replied “no.” She was not looking
forward to the long hours, little resources and low pay. My friend said she couldn’t blame her.
Oh I forgot to mention, by this time on my other emergency room
visits I would have been given a bed, but no bed was forthcoming as there were
no beds to be had. Babies on drips lay
in their mothers’ arms in the waiting rooms among patients who had to patiently
wait in blood stained clothes. Many folks with green cards were waiting since
morning and it was now early evening.
As we waited for my x-rays to be done my friend expressed the
desire to help the healthcare system in Jamaica. Being a nurse, she wanted to come back and volunteer
her services, but she considered her frustration at not having the necessary
resources.
My red card was very helpful. I was up next and again, I had to
get up from my wheelchair, which was one of the few semi-comforts I had in my
situation. Then, it was back to the waiting room where I went to
registration. Since I was in a public
hospital, I would be the recipient of free healthcare. However, I along with many of the others who
waited, soon recognized that there was nothing free in life. After all, most of
us know the saying, “time is money.”
And, judging from the long waiting time, wealth was being amassed, but I am quite not sure who was getting it though.
 |
| My friend garbed in the borrowed lifeguard shirt over her wrap just outside the x-ray room |
As I sat in the waiting room, hoping that no one would brush
against my chair, there was a commotion.
Many individuals ran to look out the windows and doors as news spread
that shooting victims were arriving.
Curiosity got the best of my friend, so she too dashed to see what was
going down.
*Please note: If you ever hear gunshots and you are around
Jamaicans, never go in the direction where they sprint towards. They are not running to safety, but rather
they are scurrying to see who is shooting who.
I was positioned near a gentleman who also had a red card. He saw me looking down at my feet still
covered in sand, and asked if I got hurt at the beach. I told him yes and that I suffered a
dislocated shoulder while attempting to swim.
He followed up with an explanation, “It was the devil.” Being, a Christian who has the strong belief
that God is always in charge and that He allows us to go through good and bad
for a purpose, and no matter what it will all work out for good, I tried to
tell him that God was in control. He
refused to believe this and said that God wouldn’t allow bad to happen to me.
But, could this dislocated shoulder be what God would use to show me something
more about life?
My answer came as my drama continued…
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