Why do they call it the Emergency Room? I think a better name would be Extreme Waiting Room. Yes folks, I visited the ER in two hospitals this weekend. First, at Garnet Health in Callicoon where a wait is actually very, very rare. And then at Garnet Health in Harris where I had to wait for hours to get a (drum roll) blood transfusion.

Blood loss is part of some types of cancer, mine for example. I won’t go into the details, I’ll just say the rate at which you are losing blood correlates to the speed in which you will be helped in the ER. Since I didn’t have a stab wound, I had to wait and as I waited, I overheard, the comings and goings of different needs, beyond the curtain of my little compartment…

1. A woman singing like Yoko Ono or shall we call it moaning? Eventually, but not soon enough, she was either released or moved into another part of the hospital. She was followed by…

2. An infant screaming for at least two hours until a nurse took the baby from the young mother and rocked it in her arms.

3. A young lady and her boyfriend getting the following news that made them fall silent. “You’re 21 days pregnant.” 

4. A very young child who needed a PET scan crying profusely because he or she didn’t want to drink the contrast dye.

5. A psychotherapist speaking to someone about their suicide attempt, what drugs they were using that they shouldn’t have been using, and the plans to institutionalize the patient.

Meanwhile, in my cubicle…

1. They kept rolling in the chest x-ray machine for no reason. “Do you want your chest x-ray now?” 

2. “Nope,” I said (both times) because it has nothing to do with my condition.

3. They strapped me in with EKG sticky pads, a heart rate monitor on the tip of the finger, and worst of all a blood pressure cuff that went off every half hour. My BP must have been taken a dozen times or more throughout my stay. 

I don’t know why, but BP cuffs give me anxiety. Is it because they squeeze the arm so unbearably hard to the point where my heart feels like it will explode out of my arm? 

I was told that the BP needed to be taken throughout the transfusion. However, the blood was not ready for hours. No kidding. “Where is it coming from?” I asked.

“Another floor,” came the answer. Later, I’d get more details that they absolutely need to make sure the blood is a match so there would be no adverse reaction. I promptly took the cuff off and said I’d agree to it when the transfusion started. The nurse was not pleased, but we all survived.

Just before the transfusion was supposed to start, the doctor informed me of all the risks like blood-born illnesses, allergies and outright rejection of the plasma. I had to sign consent forms with my weaker hand because my right was occupied with hospital gadgets.   

And then a surprise! Some additional bloodwork showed that my hemoglobin levels were now okay and I didn’t need a transfusion after all. Somehow between Callicoon and Harris, I miraculously made blood. Or as the PA put it, “Sometimes the tests disagree.” 

Everything was then detached only to be reattached including the dreaded BP cuff when my oncologist, by phone, told the attending PA, “Just go ahead with it anyway.” So I went ahead with it and feel better for it. Glad I did. However, now I wonder if I’ll suddenly have a yearning for cuddling wombats or something else out of the ordinary with this new blood running through me.

RAMONA JAN is the Founder and Director of Yarnslingers, a storytelling group that tells tales both fantastic and true. She is also the roving historian for Callicoon, NY and is often seen giving tours around town. You can email her at callicoonwalkingtours@gmail.com.