How To Fail Your Hospital Stay – A Leticia P. Story

What have we learned? Don’t give me a blog, that’s what we’ve learned.

It’s a good thing I didn’t set my posting schedule in stone, ha ha ha. *coughs* How many times can I apologize? A lot I suppose. But it’s just a blog, which I will admit I hate saying because the wording gives off “I don’t really care” vibes, and that’s the last thing I want to do.

But priority. Guys, priorities.

It’s not the end of the world if I miss a post, (or miss several in a row), but it’s not ideal either, and you certainly don’t want to commit to something that you can’t follow through with. And I certainly don’t want you all to subscribe and then not receive what I’ve promised as a content creator.

(Don’t worry, though, I’m not going anywhere.)

For the foreseeable future however, I will be adventurous, and post whenever I have something actually content-worthy. Instead of trying to cram a hundred words on the page for the sake of posting, I’m going to try something different, and see what sticks.

So let’s get to the next announcement shall we? Because I really have two things to say. *drumroll* I am going to be dissolving my pen name. *cue the shocked gasps* Louise Taylor is a pen name, yes. Amid all the hustle and bustle of life (my life probably isn’t as busy as it sounds,) I neglected to mention that Louise Taylor is in fact a pen name. Partly because it’s the internet, and partly because it never occurred to me.

The name people have used to get my attention for the past couple o’ decades (okay, I’m not that old) is Emma. To make life easier for all of us (because I’m aspiring to take over the world, y’all), I’m just going to go by Emma.

SO, Leticia P story anyone?? 😀

How To Fail Your Hospital Stay

A Leticia P. Story

Okay, let me preface by saying I have a bad history with doctors. And hospitals. And nurses. Basically anyone who tries to take care of me besides my mother. I don’t like it. 

I don’t like a lot of things, but unfortunately that’s called life and you gotta deal with stuff like that. But this particular day I really didn’t want to deal with anything. It was one of those days where if something goes wrong you can feel the panic attack creeping up into your chest and you expend like 95.7% of your energy on not panicking like a two-year old. 

Suffice to say I was not at my best mentally, or physically, considering I’d fainted twice in three hours. It was not a good day. 

Speaking of mothers I was hoping they’d called my mom, that she was waiting for me at the hospital. But she wasn’t. In fact, when I asked the paramedic if they’d called my emergency contact, he stared at me in confusion. 

I quickly remembered Nicole informing me of the fact that I was a new employee and therefore not in the system yet. Rats. 

“Do you know her number?” he looked at me like I was two, with the most condescending stare I’d ever received from someone in a position of authority (except maybe the VBS leader I’d enraged one summer afternoon during church camp). 

“I can call her myself.” No, no I couldn’t. Not in my state of ‘trying not to panic’. The moment I dialed I’d realized what I’d done. I wasn’t going to panic, no, but my mother… My mother who nearly jumped out of her skin when I got bloody noses… Yeah, she was going to panic. Fast and hard. 

RATS. I braced myself for her worried voice. 

And I got voicemail. 

Once the shock of being sent to my own mother’s voicemail wore off, I tentatively let her know my location, condition, and reassured her about a bazillion times that it was all going to be okay. 

After which I was deposited in a wheelchair, and pushed into a gigantic waiting room. 

There must have been like a hundred patients or something. It was insane. At this rate, I’d be here overnight, and my mother was definitely not prepared for that. 

But fear not, they gave me 5 lbs. of paperwork. No way was I going to be bored during the erroneous wait time. 

And all for what, again? An adrenaline spike and blackout. Hurrah for the medical establishment. 

I watched the clock tick by, listening to several people sneeze, cough, and blow their nose. Several times the emergency doors opened again and patients were rushed in on beds who were in much more dire circumstances than the rest of us. 

But those instances were few and far between, thankfully, and the doctors seemed to have everything under control. 

Once I’d filled out everything I could in my own personal autobiography, I set it aside and sighed. 

Like a long sigh. 

When I breathed back in though I was sure I’d contracted several hundred variations of the common cold. 

And then I heard it. My name. Being called. In a shrill and worried voice. At the top of a pair of panicked lungs. 

Suddenly a cold didn’t seem so bad. I sunk low into my chair, hoping my mother would take a moment before she saw me. Saw me in a wheelchair. Breathe, Mom, breathe. I straightened my shoulders, spotted her among the crowd, and waved. 

She saw me, and sprinted across the waiting room.

Alright everybody! I hope you enjoyed Leticia’s escapade, stay tuned for part two, and anything else that appears in your inbox. ;D

Have a fantastic week!

-Emma 🙂