Dealing with more stupid

I’d forgotten the exhaustion that a new mother feels.

I’d forgotten about sore nipples, toxic poos, that sour milk smell, screaming gas fits and how one can fall so head over heels in love with such a little thing that nothing else much matters.

Emotionally I’m fine – as long as you consider being so exhausted your eyes go crossed every now and again fine.

Physically I’m still lagging. I know the birth was difficult. And the pregnancy was no treat – but I’m feeling horrible so I set out to let my doctor know.

To say I’m pale would be like saying Marilyn Manson is weird. I’m Casper the Ghost white. So my doctor decides to send me to get some blood work done. He suspects that I may be anaemic – no big stretch given the fact that I nearly bled to death a few weeks back.

Since the Emergency Room at the Oromocto Public Hospital is still not back up and running, my doctor suggests I bring the requisition there to get the blood drawn. They can’t be that busy with no ER – right?

So we drive to the OPH. Plenty of parking right outside the front door – there’s no emergency room – this will be easy peasy – in, out and home before supper.

Or so I thought.

The entire first floor is deserted. I get right into the lab area before I find a soul. He looks at me like I’m a member of an alien race. He stammers as if he’s forgotten how to talk to a patient.

“Y-y-y-ou’ll have to check in at reception,” he finally manages to get out.

“The deserted reception that I just walked through?” I ask – apparently lack of sleep has made me bitchier than normal.

“Y-y-y-es.” he replies.

Apparently he’s too busy playing pocket pool to simply take the requisition and draw the freaking blood, either that or the computer terminal six inches to the right of his left hand isn’t working. But I’ll follow his little power trip. And back out the hall I go.

Lo and behold there’s a chick in the corner. She’s removing staples from a pile of letters – my tax dollars at work.

I explain to her that I was sent there by my doctor and pass her the blood work requisition form.
She does a good imitation of stuttering Sam from the Lab and looks at me like I just grew another head.

“We don’t draw blood after 3:30,” she tells me in a tone that most people normally reserve for misbehaving children or the mentally challenged.

Okay – let’s dance I think.

“Since when?” I ask. Knowing full well that it must be only since the emergency room has been closed.

She rolls her eyes and repeats herself. I don’t think she even realizes how close she’s skating to danger at this point.

I look at the clock – it’s barely 3:40, and feel my blood boil just a little bit hotter.

“I can keep the letter here and have scheduling set up an appointment time for the lab work,” she says. I’m looking at the floor so I don’t reach across the desk and snap her neck but I can hear the eyes rolling in her voice.

“And when can I expect an appointment,” I ask.

“Probably next week sometime.” She sounds like a petulant teenager and I’m in no mood.

“I’m sure my doctor meant for me to get this done today or tomorrow at the latest,” I offer.

“Well he didn’t write STAT anywhere on it,” and fires me a look like I’m six.

“I’m sure doctors routinely order blood work for their patients for which they don’t want the results.” I fire back.

“And since you’re all so busy here I’m sure the hospital in Fredericton will be happy to fit me in and I’ll be sure to let them and all my friends and family know how wonderful the customer service is at the OPH.”

I hate stupid people, I’m sure I’ve mentioned that before, and this near recipient of a Darwin Award is lucky that I’m exhausted enough to not want to get an administrator involved.

If this is any indication of the services in Oromocto I think we’re all going to have to get used to driving to Fredericton because there’s no way the government can justify keeping open a lab that can’t manage to draw blood halfway through the afternoon.