When the Doc said No
written by: Keith D Guernsey
@thegurns
Susan and I walked into the house on a balmy Saturday after a wonderful block party over at the clubhouse and then disaster struck. After a couple of adult beverages (no really …I only two!), I ran smack dab into a chair with a very sharp wooden leg. It began bleeding and I rushed to the bathroom so as not to get any more blood on our new carpet.
I told Susan that I was just going to put a Band-Aid on my foot and go to bed. Her response was “look down at that pool of blood on the floor and say that again.” Her caregiver instincts took over and she sprang into action. She wrapped my foot in an old towel, taped it in place and said “get dressed, we are going to the hospital” (we were very fortunate that the very best hospital in the state of Georgia was only four miles away). I threw on my sweatshirt and a hat and off we went. She helped me to car and we drove to the ER in record time. We walked in (well she walked, I hobbled) to an almost empty emergency room. She sat me down and filled out the requisite paperwork.
Just then the attending physician rounded the corner and took the clipboard from her. As he looked at it a crowd of half a dozen nurses and staff filled around him ready to help this klutzy old codger. He then said with an entirely straight face, “I’m sorry Mr. Guernsey but I can’t treat you.”
He paused long enough that I started to consider my options. Am in the wrong place? Should I ask for another doctor? Should I go to another ER?
Just then a Cheshhire cat grin broke out across his face. The entire staff behind him broke out in hysterics. He said, “you are a New England Patriots fan and we don’t treat them here.”
In my haste to get dressed, I hadn’t realized I had thrown on my Super Bowl championship sweatshirt and that the timing couldn’t have been worse as it was right after the Pats beat the Falcons in SB LI.
It was a particularly humiliating defeat for them since the Falcons had lost the biggest lead in Super Bowl history at home in their own stadium. I did my best to assure everyone that it was purely coincidental, and I wasn’t trying to rub it in! (Ok well maybe just a little.)
He proceeded to stitch me up and send me on my way. I’m sure it was just my imagination, but it sure felt like he was digging the stitching needle just a little deeper, as a measure of revenge.
But in the end, we shook hands, and we parted as friendly rivals.
- When the Doc said No - September 1, 2023
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- Living Well With Cancer - October 6, 2022
