Terri and Peter's RV Adventures

The four of us dragged ourselves out of bed, fighting the impulse to stay in our respective warm beds (dogs in theirs) for just one more hour. Peter and I’d committed to a 6:30 am start knowing we had an hour of two lane country road driving to get from Alma to Moncton and the Moncton Medical Center. With bleary eyes, we greeted the 40 degree morning and early morning sunlight as it peeked over the tips of the pine trees, promising a beautiful spring day. My call with Kaiser last night lended an air of urgency to see a doctor but we knew we couldn’t safely make that drive last night. Good call on our part. Early morning was much better.

It was still quite a challenging and beautiful drive: a two lane country road, mostly well paved, winding up, down, right left, over hills, through magnificent farmland, rolling hills, bogs, white churches with picture perfect steeples, red storybook barns, sheep and lambs hugging the roadside, eating their way through the dewy morning grasses rich in their finest greenery. White clapboard houses, some two story, a vestige of the past, laundry drying on a line, well-used toys scattered about, a front porch with simple wooden chairs for looking out at the Bay of Fundy and keeping tabs on the town’s comings and goings.

We caught a glimpse of daily life: yellow, old style school buses, empty at 7 am, but filling up with each country mile stop. Mothers watching their children get on the bus, then turning toward home, checking their cell phones as they walked. Otherwise, we were the only vehicle on the road at that early hour.

We made it to the emergency room by 7:45 am. Peter dropped me off and met me after he’d parked. The scene inside was straight out of a gritty Robert DeNiro/Al Pacino movie, maybe starring some greasy characters played by Christopher Walken or Willem Dafoe. A guy slumped over and spread out on two chairs, still sleeping off the night before, head covered by his leather Hells Angels jacket. (When he woke up two hours later he screamed F bombs, said he needed his drugs and was escorted out the door.) There was another guy in the corner vibrating and rocking side to side in his own world, an old man with no teeth dry heaving into a bucket (and another in the bathroom doing what sounded like the same activity). The floor was dirty and lined with a battered, worn indoor/outdoor black floor mat. People were hacking, some masked, some not. It was not a place I wanted to spend four seconds in much less four hours. But I did.

The intake was very efficient but it ended there. I was warned it could take a few hours. It took four. I Googled walk in clinics but many didn’t open until 9 am or later in the evening and I was told most require appointments. So much for walking in. I talked to a nurse in a different part of the hospital (in my attempt to find a clean bathroom) and she said this ER was my best chance to be seen by someone. She said four hours was great; she’d waited eleven the other day.

At the three hour mark I asked one of the staff if they knew where I was in line. “No” she said. “They [the people behind the double green glass doors that led to the inner sanctum of treatment] decide who they want to see. I have no idea when someone will be seen.” I stumbled back to my seat, wearing a mask to try and stay somewhat impervious to god knows what was flying through that air. I walked past two vending machines: the one with water and sodas was broken leaving the one with chips and candy bars. No thank you. It was a throwback to the 70s when hospitals didn’t think about offering healthy food options.

Speaking of the 70’s, everything seemed to be recorded using pen and paper. One time the receptionist used a computer to record my information. I was given a printout to sign and they spelled Peter’s name wrong and said my injury was on the wrong foot. Peter had taken off with the dogs to a park and I tried meditating, being grateful and reading about politics.

Finally, my name was called. The rest went almost too quickly. The doctor looked at my toe, wrote a script for an antibiotic, told me to soak it in warm water two times a day, use gauze to separate it from my big toe to avoid rubbing and wait for the blister to open on its own. Old school and I was out of there in five minutes. They didn’t have a pharmacy in the hospital (what?), so I walked two or three blocks to a CVS type pharmacy where I was told it would take another hour to fill my prescription. If you ever hear me complaining about Kaiser, remind me of this experience. It did make me deeply grateful for all I have and for my life. Truly.

I thought of Peter’s nephew and his wife in Cleveland, both doctors, both talking about fighting their way through the monotony of their jobs by getting to know their patients. None of that happened today. No reaction to my attempts at humor or trying to make conversation. How often do they get patients from California? Well, they weren’t interested. So, I retreated to a dull room and a dull wait and then gratitude that I was seen and treated by someone who thought I’d be fine in a couple of days.

One other good thing: no bill. I only paid for my prescription. That was pretty amazing although it felt like such a waste of resources having someone like me with a blister taking up time in an emergency room when there were much sicker people who needed to be seen more quickly. The Canadian medical system, based on my sample size of one, could use some tweaking. I’m glad to be out of there and back to our little home in the woods.

The dogs were very happy to see me, too, and we settled in for the evening, grilling burgers and counting our blessings. Tomorrow we head off to Halifax, Nova Scotia for two nights. Time to explore that province. I’m looking forward to getting a touch of bigger town life and to experience a new province. I hope to learn more about what makes one province different from another: demographically, ideologically, economically, types of work people do and more. Maybe I’ll find someone who will be willing to talk about that. More tomorrow! Thanks for following along.

This is a street shot of the town of Alma, near Headquarters Campground. Hard to see but it’s a block or two long with mostly quaint little restaurants.