Maybe it's the water

Before moving up north, I had been told by many people that in their opinion I was both non-judgmental and open minded. I had been led to believe I had a fairly decent grasp of how things worked despite never really escaping for college or studying abroad or anything else of that nature. Sadly, that whole image was rocked last week when I woke up with an attack of pain so vicious that had I also woken up back in the caveman era of time, I would have gladly taken some sharp rock and jabbed myself at the painful area of my body and removed organs until I was in less pain.

Luckily, I wasn't home alone. While I rolled up into a little ball on the bathroom floor alternating between hugging a pillow and the toilet, depending on which direction my fever sent me, he made calls. I'm used to being a short drive and a waiting room away from seeing someone. On the off chance that I couldn't, say a large percentage of people came down with the flu or something, then there was always walk-in prompt care clinics and such. Even in the inner Kansas City there was a day clinic. Back home people complained if they had to wait a whole day until they could see someone. With that said, you can imagine my surprise when not only could no doctor in the area see me, but that they weren't accepting patients. That's right, there are so few physicians in the area that they cannot even accept any more patients.

I ended up calling my physician's office back in Lawrence, whom rightly told me to go to the emergency room. It's still very odd to me how the nearest emergency room is in New Hampshire. Back home, Kansans didn't dare go over to Missouri for care and vise-versa. Regardless, it is so noted that I was here a grand total of eight days before learning where the nearest hospital is. Insert jokes here.

Why is it that the smaller the town, the slower the emergency room? Also, doctors and nurses in small town emergency rooms are less impressed with injuries. They don't panic, there's never any reason to. It's very odd since in small towns, the latest bit of gossip will get the pants of all waded up into a bun, but if someone is attacked by a wild, furious squirrel, no one really says anything besides the fact it happened. It's like there's this understanding and acceptance that in life, to a certain degree, these things are bound to happen. It's always the "tough" gang bangers of the inner city whom brag about how many gun shot and knife wounds they have "survived." In small towns it's, remember how stupid Jim Bob was for provoking that squirrel and standing to close to Billie Ray when he was loading his gun? Scars of such nature in small area are a sign of stupidity, not bravery.

I guess it's a good thing that I didn't act all caveman like and went to the emergency room. There is something very odd and twisted in the fact that it took a small town doctor in New Hampshire with a very heavy New England accent to figure out that all of these years I've been dealing with kidney stones. It's also very odd that my follow up appointment with a specialist (not a physician) that should have been just seven days from my ER visit, is actually next month, and that was after the scheduler, rearranged things so that they could fit me in.

I can only imagine how it must be to live in rural Maine up north from where I live. Clearly, I should never live in such a place since my body refuses to operate at some state of efficiency for any period of time. As my sister has pointed out, maybe I should just become the bionic woman and start replacing organs with artificial ones. It may actually be cheaper. Until that happens, I think I'll stay away from the true wilderness and start propaganda quietly teaching people to fear the squirrels.