Mon 31 May 2010 |
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Picture this: Yours truly going mano a mano with two armed security guards in the Emergency Room at New York Hospital. Here's how it went down: My husband, who, unlike me, is pretty stoic about pain, was in serious pain. We managed to get to the Emergency Room, and harder still, get admitted inside, where he was put on a gurney in a hallway and pretty much abandoned. He was writhing and moaning; I was helplessly standing by, hyperventilating. After watching this for a few minutes, I made my move. I walked over to the first doctor I saw, who was busy on a computer and didn't take kindly to the interruption. Mind you, I had already made a scene just to get us admitted, but had assumed (silly me) that once we had reached the inner sanctum, Lou would be looked after. So now I had to deal with an overworked, exhausted doctor who basically told me to wait my turn. Hello? EARTH TO DOCTOR: Does the term "Lioness" mean anything to you? I took a deep breath and explained the situation, staying as calm as I could, considering that I was hysterical. Unmoved, he told me that my husband's name wasn't even up on the computer yet, whereupon I told him precisely what he could do with the computer. I probably added a few other well chosen words, but who remembers. Anyway in what seemed like seconds, two guards, one short and one tall, rushed in to apprehend me, now to be known as The Mad Woman Of The E.R. . . . And there I was, all five feet two of the least threatening-looking person these guards had ever seen at New York Hospital, or any place else for that matter. I guess they didn't know that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but then, I was the one in the publishing business, not them. They looked me over, then looked around wondering if they had the right person, looked up (and down) at each other, and then back at me. I politely told them what had happened and apologized for my less than ladylike language. The smaller one, who seemed to be in charge, stuttered and stammered, but finally said that they had to escort me out. Pronto. I wasn't going anywhere. The guards and I went back and forth for a while, but let's face it, I had the upper hand: they were still in shock and I was on adrenalin. When I saw that Lou was indeed being treated (strange, but people were suddenly starting to pay attention to him now), I agreed to leave -on the condition that they would let me back in a half hour. I actually made the shorter one look me in the eye and promise me they would do this. He accepted my terms, because by now he, unlike the doctor, had gotten the memo: Don't mess with a lioness. The story has a happy ending: although Lou was diagnosed with kidney stones (Ouch!) he was treated with painkillers right then, and later had a procedure that successfully ended the episode. Whew. ![]() Oh, and they let me back in the ER in 33 minutes, but who's counting, where I saw that things were under control and apologized to the doctor, who more or less shrugged it off. I'm sure he's heard worse. So I guess that it's true what they say: The squeaky wheel does get the oil, even when your squeak is worse than your bite. But what I did in this case is something you should not try at home. It must be done under medical supervision, in a crowded emergency room (is there any other kind?) and executed with a lot of attitude, New York style. It also brings new meaning — and poignancy — to the phrase: "I've been kicked out of better places than this . . . ." UPDATE SEPTEMBER 14, 2010 Well, I wasn't kicked out of the ER this time, but I almost wish I had been. We waited in a hallway for 11 hours to get my mom checked out, admitted, and into a room after a bad fall which fractured a bone in her neck, an injury that can be quite serious. She's being well cared for, and I'm grateful for that. But I still don't get why the ER experience has to be so demoralizing. Any thoughts? |
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Comments
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Bitter Patter
NO LAUGHING MATTER:
Did Demi Moore overdose
on laughing gas??
That's what's being reported
to those of us at:
A DEVOUT COWARD
GOES TO THE DENTIST
Have you seen The Artist? Seeing it mentioned at
The Golden Globes reminded me that that not ALL movies are
Incredibly Loud!
Do NOT Google Santorum.
I warned you . . .
I did it!
I actually got that
LITTLE BLACK DRESS!
How hard was it?
Click on the link above.
I also got my iPhone.
It's great.
Thank you Steve Jobs
Wherever you are.
Just as I posted I WAS THE GIRL PHANTOM, I found a website called The Ghost Who Blogs about The Phantom comics:
http://falkonthewildside.blogspot.com
Writing Comics. . .
Was a small but wonderful part of my checkered career, and doing a post about it brought back a lot of great memories. If you know any other women in NYC who wrote — or are writing — comics, tell me how to get in touch with them.
I'm on a watching-old-movies kick these days.
Great way to lose yourself.
If you're lucky, you'll never be found.
REVIEWS TO PERUSE
I'm All Right, Jack:
"Jack" is not just all right, it's totally delightful and fresh as a daisy after all these years (made in 1959), with Sellers, although not technically the lead, giving the brilliant performance that launched him as an international star. He plays an all-too-zealous union leader and father of a blonde bombshell who falls for Stanley, the British Upper Class Twit played, also to perfection, by Ian Carmichael, who you might remember from the Lord Peter Wimsey series. The makeout scenes between the the Twit and the Bombshell are priceless. But what is Stanley doing in this working class atmosphere anyway? Working. And too well at that. Forced by financial circumstances too dreary to discuss, he gets a job in his uncle's factory and messes things up for the other workers by, well, working, and thus making his fellow employees look bad. The film takes a big shot at unions — but also at management: they are manipulating white-collar thieves who'll do anything for a buck. Or a pound. Except for the ones, like Major Hitchcock, played by Terry Thomas, who are just plain lazy and inept. Needless to say, Stanley foils everybody's plans, labor and management alike, to my great joy and delight. Oh, and on top of everything else, Margaret Rutherford plays dotty dowager Aunt Dolly. Delicious!
The Big Lebowski:
What can you say that hasn't been said before: brilliant, inspired, with some of the most memorable lines ever to come out of a movie, the most quoted being "The Dude abides." Oh yes. For anyone who hasn't yet seen the film, and it's now out in a special Blu-Ray edition if that floats your bowling ball. The Dude in question, played to perfection by Jeff Bridges, is an out-of-work pothead who is roughed up and has his rug destroyed by some thugs mistaking him for another, bigger, Lebowski. The Dude is really upset about this because, man, "that rug really tied the room together," which The Dude says with all seriousness and not a trace of irony, a great comic touch considering the condition his condition is in. Oh, and besides "Just Dropped In," all the music is perfect for the film. The plot, according to Wikipedia, which has been known to be wrong, is "loosely based on Raymond chandler's novel, The Big Sleep." Could be. But who cares. It involves a bowling competition, "the occasional acid flashback," a trophy wife, a group of German nihilists, a kidnapping gone awry, a mad millionaire and his lackey, in another great performance by Philip Seymour Hoffman. Actually, they're all great performances. Never a fan of John Goodman before or since, he is brilliant in this film. And so are John Turturro, overacting his little heart out, Steve Buscemi in a nerdy, needy role that makes you marvel at his star turn in Boardwalk Empire, and even the actors in the smaller parts, especially Julianne Moore and Sam Elliott. Elliott plays The Stranger (God? Everyman? The part of us that roots for the bad boy?) who elicits from Bridges the immortal words, "The Dude abides." Which prompts The Stranger to comment to the audience: "Don't know about you but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there. The Dude. Takin' 'er easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. I sure hope he makes the finals." We'll never know about the bowling trophy because there's never been a sequel to this 1998 film by the great Coen Brothers, and I hope there never will be. It just abides, as all great films do.
Prince of the City:
Okay, the criticisms of this movie are not totally unfounded: it's too long, and Treat Williams may have overacted a bit, although I found him so deliciously charming I couldn't care less, and there's one part concerning the Jerry Orbach character I just didn't understand. But get over it, The New Yorker, this is one powerful movie. And yes, Dog Day Afternoon it isn't, but what it? The DVD has a great special feature with Williams (I so want to call him Treat) and Sidney (what the hell: I once made a meatloaf sandwich for the man) that explains a lot about filmmaking in general and this movie in particular. Also, Sidney's views on good and evil, and how things are not so black and white as you think. I loved it.
Bad Day At Black Rock:
Recommended on TCM by Robert Osbourne as a film he originally had no interest in seeing, then loved it, and by Alex Baldwin, who pointed out the great actors in the cast, including Lee Marvin, Ernest Brognine and Dean Jagger. Well, after all that, I had to like it, right? I did. A lot. It was a Good Day On My Couch.
Behind the Scenes Stuff: Spencer Tracey was off drinking and wouldn't commit to the film until the producers (who wanted him desperately) told him that they had Alan Ladd, at which point Tracey grabbed it. He was perfect for the part, wearing a dark suit and tie the entire time in a western setting, pulling it off perfectly. Other than that "fashion statement," the film makes a strong case against racism: the hatred of the Japanese during WW2. See it.
Song of The Thin Man:
I usually like these frothy, silly, suave, utter unrealistic films from the 30s and 40s, with William Powell and Myrna Loy as the couple we'd all like to be — if only we had the looks, brains, money, a huge capacity for drinking and a dog like Asta. But this one was a stinker, rather than a stinger, or maybe a sinker, because it turned out to be the last, not to mention the least, in the series. Watch any of the others four sequels, but not this one: Even the pooch jumped the shark.
The Children's Hour:
It had its moments, and just looking at Audrey Hepburn makes life worth living, but mostly I kept thinking that the play, by Lillian Hellman, was so much better. It's about two young women runing a school for girls, who are accused by a hateful little brat of being (GASP!) lesbians. And although the closest we get in this 1961 production to using that actual term is the word "unnatural," it's enough to ruin their lives. A young Shirley McClaine is worth seeing in this, and James Garner, and Audrey Hepburn is, well, Audrey Hepburn. The rumor of the love that dare not speak its name is totally untrue — or is it? And I'll say no more, because you should see the movie for yourself, imperfect as it may be, as is Life Itself.
by martinis alone,
I like this blog:
grapesandgreens.blogspot.com
BITTER PATTER
Click on:
Welcome To My Blog
Scroll down to
PAT'S FAVORITES
for a blast
from the past.
Picture this: 





Comments
Obviously those guards had no idea they were dealing with a true N.Y. Princess (see April's "Princess and Proud of it").
They also don't know that a lifetime in publishing teaches you never to take no for an answer.
And lastly, they didn't take time to notice that you really do look good in orange (see May's "I Look Good in Orange").
I hope you gave them your card, so they could read your blog and avoid this unpleasantness in the future.
Di
What with all the excitement, I forgot to give them my card (NEVER forget to give out your card: you paid good money for that!) but I don't really want to return to the scene of the crime to do that.
Thanks for your comment.
ER, I want you with me. I'll fly you down. There's no way they will have seen me by the time your flight gets here, so you'll have plenty of time to get your Fortunato up. Go, girl!
You'd never know that I am a person who hates confrontation, would you? It's just that a princess has to do what a princess has to do.
Hope you never need my services on this!
I've heard that kidney stones are extremely painful and can just drop anyone to the floor. Wish you husband the best.
Lou is fine, and I haven't gotten into (this sort of) trouble since.
Read, and weep.
This woman got excellent care in Portugal, where she didn't even speak the language, after waiting all of 10 minutes in the ER.
Meanwhile, while you're home, here's the health care plan: don't get sick, and if you do, die fast.
Sorry to sound so . . . bitter, but our health care system is a disgrace.
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