[34] TOURNELLE DU SOLEIL • HOSPITAL • May 23, MORNING (Patreon)

A deep ache on the outside of my knee wakes me up over and over as I shift in my sleep. 

I wake up. Shuffle to the freezer. Grab an ice pack. Shuffle to the couch. Elevate my leg. Let the ice ease away the throbbing radiating down the outside of my calf, up the back of my knee.

A tiny sliver of sky is visible between the tight frame of the concrete towers packed densely onto my city block. By the time the ice pack is dripping warmly down my calf, it lightens to a sickly grey from the half-night of the ever-bright city.

I check the online emergency room wait time listings. Says the average to be seen by a doctor at Toronto General emergency is two hours right now.

I strap on a heavy-duty knee brace. The kind with metal and hinges and straps. I grab a cane from the front hall closet so I can put as little weight on it as possible. Time to go.

It does not go well.

I spend seven hours at the emergency department. Hospital volunteers keep trying to send me for x-rays. I keep repeating that I need soft-tissue imaging. I don’t want to waste the resources, I tell them. I think maybe there was a misunderstanding when I did my triage intake. I don’t need an x-ray. The volunteers nod understandingly. Do I have to do an x-ray before they allow me to do other imaging or something, I ask. The volunteers scurry away with promises to clarify.

An hour passes. My knee throbs. I wish I could have some ice.

A nurse practitioner running the floor comes over. A small pinprick of relief. Now we’ll get things straightened out. But then she says: “So you’ll just follow the pink line on the floor to radiology for your x-ray.”

“Ah,” I say, trying to catch her attention. She’s already turning away. “I was trying to explain to the others–I think my intake nurse might’ve made a mistake. I don’t need an x-ray. I need soft-tissue imaging.”

I want to explain more. I want to show her the video I have of the injury as it happened. Show her that there was no impact. No way I could have broken a bone. I hold myself back from explaining more. I don’t want to seem like a know-it-all patient. That won’t be good. But if I’m direct and efficient, I can help make my care here direct and efficient. Right?

Wrong.

She bristles. Icy tones of disbelief: “You know you can’t just walk in here and demand to have whatever you want.”

Oh no–

“I’m not trying to demand anything,” I say, words tumbling out over each other. I feel my cheeks warming. What should I do? I’ve upset her. Why did I upset her? She thinks I’m being rude. Was I rude? I wasn’t trying to be rude. Quick, explain yourself.

“I’m trying to advocate for the kind of medical attention I need. I don’t have any broken bones. I don’t need an x-ray. I don’t need to be slowing down or holding up those resources. I’m a circus artist and this is my job. I need to know if I tore a ligament, or a tendon, or a muscle.” I’m pleading. I hope my face shows it.

The nurse practitioner walks away from me.

“...Do you want me to follow you, or…?” I call after her.

She doesn’t turn around. Says, “Just stay there.”

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Until then, stay strange and wonderful - XO, ess