Jun 28, 2012|
I am writing this while lying in bed in my pajamas. Wait—scratch that. I am lying in bed and dictating this while my sister sits at a desk diligently typing my words. Why? Because I only have the use of one arm. Why? Because I dislocated my shoulder. Why? Because after I wrote a column about how old people are always injured, I somehow cursed myself to a lifetime of severe yet comical injuries. OK, enough Q&As, let’s get to this week’s column: Queen Mary Hospital is not my friend.
After a freak shoulder dislocation in Cyberport, I was left screaming in pain with an arm I couldn’t move without losing consciousness. Until recently, I haven’t had many serious injuries but let me tell you, a shoulder dislocation really hurts—you are in tremendous pain, you can’t move your arm without a wave of agony running through you, and you’re freaking out because your body is not where it is supposed to be. You know how in movies they pop the guy’s shoulder into place and he goes back to work? Yeah, imagine that but instead of gunning down the bad guy I am lying on the floor screaming and crying for a car to take me to Queen Mary.
Fifteen minutes later I arrive at the hospital. “I need to see the doctor!” I scream at a nurse who hands me a form to fill out. “I can’t move my arm,” I explain. “Can you write with your left hand?” she asks. “Yeah, if you want it to look like a three-year-old’s my first picture book,” I spit back. “OK,” she says, handing me the form. I was about to swing my body to bitch slap her with my dead arm when my friend John arrives. “I’ll fill it out,” he says. “Pain meds!” I scream.
After reviewing my form I cut the queue and go to room 11. I am so happy I could die. Also, I kind of wish I would die because my arm is hanging at its side and—This is Yalun’s sister, Rosa. He’s just whining a lot. Actually he’s been whining ever since I got here. Sooo annoying. I’m nodding, but not typing what he’s saying. I wonder what I’m doing for lunch… alright, he’s done.
So, and this is important info for any future Queen Mary-goers: room 11 is a trick. It’s just another waiting room in the back! So I wait there for 20 minutes until it hurts too much and then get the two-meter-tall John to yell at nurses until something happens. And what happens is a doctor sends me to get an X-ray. But first I have to go to the X-ray waiting room. This is getting ridiculous, and my shoulder was Rosa’s note: shut up, Yalun.
The doctor studies the X-ray for a long while before telling me, “It’s dislocated,” which convinces me that I must be a doctor because I love making people wait and then telling them obvious things. They lay me down on a table and ask me to sign something saying he can pop my shoulder back into place while I explain the difficult concept of "no-arm-worky." He understands (hallelujah!) and instead I give my thumbprint, like a criminal. I am pumped full of drugs and three guys pull and push me and pop! it goes back into place. “Just lay there a minute,” the doctor says. “You’re still on sedatives.”
“I don’t think these sedatives are working,” I say and sit up, only to note that nobody is in the room and it is two hours later. I leave to find a nurse who gives me a sling, which I think is just a scarf that belongs to her. “Come back tomorrow for a real sling,” she says. “What do I do with my arm?” I ask. “Be careful,” she replies. Uh, thanks.