Alright pretty people, it's time for another rant and since I just put in 41 hours at work (and only worked three days). I'm exhausted. So naturally, it's Story Time! Yay (because telling you stories and pretending that they make sense is easier than crafting an intelligent, valid argument).

So let's talk about something I'm seeing more and more of: Hospital Scenes

Okay, I'll admit, it adds a bit of drama. But I'm kind of tired of the over exaggeration. I read a story where a girl literally went to the emergency room because she was coughing and she thought she was coming down with a cold.

I don't know...I'm pretty sure it's just my upbringing, but I didn't go to the doctor for shit when I was growing up. I ripped muscles out of my chest, couldn't breathe, and didn't see a doctor for two weeks. I could be dying and my dad would just be like "Oh sweat it out."

I sweated out a lot of colds, flus, allergies, everything.

But anyway, I'm tired of people just throwing these overly dramatic hospital scenes into a work just to perhaps "spice it up". Emergency Rooms are for just that: E-M-E-R-G-E-N-C-I-E-S. Don't send your character to the emergency room because she slipped and had a bruise on her leg. No. Just. Don't do that.

You know what I'm dying to see? An emergency room scene that's there for comic relief. Because do you know how awkward emergency room visits are when you aren't absolutely 100% dying? Anyone?

Well, when your prognosis isn't technically potentially fatal (I'm talking rib cage collapsed with a concussion and a bone poking through your leg), they don't put you on a gurney and rush you down the hall screaming about vitals.

In fact, where I live, if you aren't within moments of dying, odds are you'll have to wait a couple of hours before you even see a nurse, let alone a doctor. Now, this makes sense, because I came from an area with an unnaturally high number of hypochondriacs that were in the emergency room every couple of weeks. So obviously the doctors knew who was serious and who wasn't, but regardless it's whoever is the worst goes first.

Which brings me to my story (because I've found that you guys respond well to my self-deprecating sense of humor). I'll recap the big points at the end, so you can skip the story if you want. I'll set it off with asterisk, because I'm nice!

***

A couple of months ago  I went to the emergency room (okay, it wasn't emergency, it was urgent care, but work with me. Saying emergency room fits with the theme of the rant). I just knew that my head hurt so bad I literally could not stand it. Honestly, worst pain ever. And I was incredibly dehydrated and just...ick. So, naturally, my best friend took me on our lovely adventure.

Honestly, I'm a little fuzzy on some of the details. I remember it started when I was just lying in bed, in the fetal position, holding my head saying I was okay and my best friend kept saying "If you're not okay, just say you're not okay."

And for some reason it all seemed really loud so I started crying (except not really, because I was super dehydrated and couldn't cry) asking him why he was yelling at me. (You know how sometimes pregnant women go all batshit crazy and their hormones get all out of whack? Yeah, that was me, just without the pregnant part).

So I admitted I wasn't fine and we went to the hospital.

Unfortunately, when I got there they gave me this questionnaire thing to answer about my health conditions, which I couldn't see straight enough to fill out myself so my best friend took the task upon himself...only he didn't know all the answers.

Let me tell you guys something, you can be best friends with someone for your entire life and you never really know them until you have to fill out hospital questionnaires together.

Oh. My. God. I've never done anything so embarrassing. You can imagine my distress when he starts reading questions about (of all things) menstrual cycles, bathroom habits, sex life, pregnancies, breast feeding, etcetera.

And I don't know what was worse: him asking me in the crowded waiting room, or the fact that I felt it necessary to answer with the embellishment of colorful language (Luckily when he asked when my last period was and I made a pretty off color remark to him, he didn't answer "okay, I'll take that as 'currently in progress' like I expected him to).

I also clearly remember my rant about "this has nothing to do with my goddamn head" which I'll spare you from having to read. But I'm sure the six year old girl and her father sitting beside us were very appreciative of my outburst.

It took us an hour to finish the damn thing. Sixty minutes of hell. It was over 50 questions that had nothing to do with my ailment and I actually had to think about some of them (which made my head hurt worse). Add that to my already disturbed persona and I was just a ball of sunshine, (you can't see me rolling my eyes at that).

Anyway, apparently I'm even more of a pessimist when I'm sick, too, because I got very paranoid.

My mom's veins started moving when she had kids, so it's nearly impossible to give her an IV or draw blood from her or anything, because they literally move, so nurses have to dig needles into her arm just to find a vein that only moves again after they find it. And, I got paranoid that the same thing was going to happen to me.

Now, I'd had several IVs a few months prior for dehydration and it was discovered that my veins are fine. But in that moment, I was convinced that they weren't going to work and I was going to get to spend the rest of the night with a weird little nurse trying to pull my skin off just to get to a vein. And I made sure my best friend knew that these thoughts were plaguing me.

I had a bit of a meltdown which led to him feeling up my arm and convincing me that I had a very strong vein in my hand if nowhere else. So this literally took an hour. I panicked over it for an hour during which time I begged to be taken home. But as the best friend said "I already know too many strange things about you. We're in too deep, we have to finish this now."

Two hours in and I still had the headache from hell and I was still irrational.

Now, if you've ever had a migraine you know that there's sensitivity to light and sound and everything really. Well, I had my head resting on my best friend's arm and he has a deep voice, which is bad to have your ear so close to his vocal chords.

The vibrations, I decided, were very unpleasant, so while he was trying to calm me and say nice things about how hospitals are no big deal (and he would know), I flicked him in the throat. Do you know how bad that hurts? So bad. It shut him up for sure (which is sad, because it was actually soothing to hear what he had to say, but also painful.)

No doubt, my performance in the waiting area could have won me an award for bitch of the year.

But after three hours of waiting (three hours of pure torture (for both of us)) they finally had an open room (because apparently there were a bazillion people in the hospital and a shortage of rooms).

A little bitty guy dressed in green scrubs and a lovely nametag that said "Thomas" (I remember bitching later about how it was too shiny) came to take me back to my room. And after my outrageously colorful pleading they allowed my best friend to come (because I was freaked out and decided that I needed him for sanity reasons).

Again, those of you that have ever been impaired with headaches from Satan himself also know that you have no sense of balance when you walk, so this little nurse guy helped me walk to my room.

I have no idea who taught him how to help people walk, but lemme tell ya he was holding on to something that wasn't my arm if you catch my drift. Which was just...more than awkward. It's so easy to feel violated in a hospital. So easy.

Anyway, they threw me in this room, gave me this lovely gown and told me to change. Only problem was that there were two beds in the room and one of them was occupied by a very strange, very opinionated old woman.

I'll admit, I'm a very private person. I don't even wear shorts in public, because they don't sell ones that I deem the appropriate length. So you can probably imagine my horror at having to change in front of people.

Obviously I had another meltdown. I got unreasonably angry at my best friend and decided that he could not look at me or help me for whatever reason. I did the whole "don't look. Close your eyes. Cover them. Both hands," thing with him. Yeah, he looked like an idiot covering his eyes with both hands. Like he was five and scared that I had cooties (and it was all because of me!)

But that old woman watched me the entire time. I was very incoherently trying to shove my naked self into this impossibly thin gown with her just gawking at my struggle. It wasn't like I could tell her to look away (although I was in a bitchy mood). And to make matters worse, a nurse just charged in and asked if I need help. No. I need privacy lady. Privacy. And I was pretty sure that it was going to lead to another one of those "that's not my arm" incidents anyway.

I won't even mention all the people that were walking down the hall, casually glancing into the room to see me sitting, half dressed, trying desperately to hold on to what little modestly I had left.

Naturally there was also a meltdown that stemmed from me trying to bury my underwear in my pile of clothes so the doctors and nurses wouldn't see. I'm not sure why my best friend was feeling so brave after all the horribly mean things I'd been saying and doing to him, but he for some reason thought it would be comforting to tell me: "Come on, really? They see way more that that everyday."

Poor boy. So dumb. So dumb. He should have saw the threat coming. He should have known I was going to threaten him with bodily harm.

Fortunately once that got over with the rest went fairly smoothly.

They let a new nurse do my IV (which kind of made me go through my panic again when she didn't get it the first time). Then I threatened to strangle my best friend with my IV cord because he offered to get me something to drink.

After about an hour of hearing the old woman talk about how my best friend and I were "sinners" and going to Hell for not being within the bonds of matrimony, she fell asleep. So I threatened to sell his soul to her when he offered to call my dad for me, because she was acting a lot like Satan, in my opinion..

Like I said, I was lovely. And traumatized.

***

Alright, main points of the story:

Try to make these scenes more realistic. If your character isn't within inches of dying, there's really not going to be one of those dramatic rushes down the white halls. In fact, there's probably going to be a really long, really uncomfortable wait.

Also, don't feel like they have to be used for a dramatic moment. Hospital scenes can be funny. I mean, did you read how crazy I was up there? I threatened to kill my best friend way more than just a handful of time. And I had these wonderful thoughts about killing lots of other people too. (Don't forget about all the paranoia either).

Try to capture that disoriented feeling your character is no doubt experiencing. I read so many scenes with characters having cohesive thoughts. I was freaked out, but when I read these scenes, I don't get that sense of urgency.

Naturally, I'm not that big of a bitch in real life (although I'm sure some of you are willing to argue that I am after reading these rants). This is your chance to tweak your little MC's carefully crafted character. They probably aren't going to be themselves after going through such a traumatic experience. Make your reader feel that sense of imbalance.

Another thing: nothing is more awkward than medical history. Honestly. If you think I'm wrong, trying going over your bathroom habits with anyone. It's just...strange. This could be a potentially great, humorous moment. (Just try to keep it relevant if possible).

Make it different. Everyone knows the dramatic running, screaming, crying moments. The family waiting for any kind of news. The doctors sweating over the patient and talking with their crazy Latin medical jargon. But how many people know about the odd visit by the girl who just cracked her knuckles open and needs a couple of stitches? Imagine how she feels trying to fill out this intensely personal form with all these people sitting around her probably reading the answers over her shoulder.

Use my experience if you have no ideas. I'm totally cool with that. Just make it entertaining.

Make it unique. For once I'd like to read one that wasn't overly dramatic.

Doctors and nurses are fun people. Show that when you develop them in your story. And just enjoy it for once!

Okay, over to the side is just a video by the very funny Joseph Birdsong. It has nothing to do with this rant, but I find him hilarious. He's my favorite YouTuber. Hopefully it makes you smile! Have a lovely day and thanks for reading!