My ER Experience

I was transported by ambulance from the WRTA station in downtown Youngstown to the ER at St. E’s yesterday afternoon because I blew out my knee trying to step off a bus.

The driver was kind enough to offer the ramp. It took all my might just to inch my way down and then I was stuck standing right there, clutching my cane and enduring the pain. I could not take another step. What’s a girl to do? I could not walk, so I dialed 911.

I was wheeled into the hospital on a gurney, then dumped (assisted) into a chair. They asked questions, took my vitals (pulse and blood pressure), had me sign registration papers, and gave me a “pain pill” that was white, oval, and imprinted “202” on the visible side. She said it was a Norco, but for all I know it was a placebo as it did not ease my pain.

Awhile later, a “transport” girl came to take me down to X-ray. She parked a wheelchair in front of me and left the room. Time passed… I was in tears, crying from both pain and frustration. How the hell was I supposed to walk over, pivot around, and sit down in that wheelchair when I couldn’t even stand up?

More time passed… then I overheard another patient ask whoever was attending her if they could please send someone in to assist me. Two men came in, lifted me up, and someone else moved the wheelchair behind me so I could sit down. Then the transport girl came in and wheeled me down to X-ray.

After the X-rays, I was wheeled into what looked like an empty waiting room outside the ER. Someone who noticed that I was in pain asked if I was okay, then brought me an ice pack.

Then the attending doctor came in to discharge me… she said I probably have torn ligaments, but they don’t “do” that, it’s “not an emergency” condition… so what if I cannot walk… my bones are not broken so go home and call my primary care doctor for a referral to an orthopedic specialist.

I was like what do you mean you don’t do that… what am I supposed to do? I came to the ER because I cannot walk, I’m in pain, I can’t even stand on this leg… she gets a little belligerent with me, tells me she’s not prescribing me pain pills (oh, so I’m faking to get pills?) and I need to listen while she explains this to me… they could treat me if I had broken bones, torn ligaments is an out-patient, not an emergency condition, yadda yadda. Go home, use my walker, call my doctor… she did prescribed muscle relaxers (same type and dose I already take for my back, so she can keep that script) and a steroid pack, but the bizarre thing… I was NOT examined… NO ONE EVEN LOOKED AT MY LEG. No one checked for range of motion or anything. The ONLY person who saw my knee or touched my leg in any way was the X-ray tech.

And so, I was discharged… IDK what to do. Guess it will have to mend on it’s own as until it mends enough to be able to walk on it, there is no way I can walk into a doctor’s office.

So much for that… and what’s wrong with our health system?

Before y’all scream Obamacare, this crap has been going on for years… back in the day, say 50 to 70 years ago, when you went to a doc or an ER, they treated you for whatever ails you… now it is all specialists, they only do this or only do that… come in with an ailment not on their list and oh well… can’t even call one in… go see your doc to get referred to another doc, and rack bills up along the way.



Craft Shows: To Do or Don’t?

I did a craft show yesterday, which reminded me why I quit doing craft shows years ago:

  • Set up fees vary from $15 to $150 or more, depending on the spot, and may require each vendor to donate an item valued at $25 or more, which most vendors consider as part of the set up fee.
  • The top selling item at smaller craft shows are the raffle tickets sold by the organization sponsoring craft show for chances to win prizes and/or items donated by vendors.
  • Crowds vary per weather, whimsy, and whatever else is going on that day.

Craft shows also tend to attract crafters, who shop for ideas and/or enjoy seeing what other crafters do,  which I should have remembered as the only time I did well sales-wise at a craft show years ago was when I sold handmade jewelry AND jewelry making supplies.  I also tend to spend much more than I make at craft shows, but limiting myself to cash in my wallet without borrowing from my show purse (sales & make change stash) kept me from buying too much yesterday.

All in all, it was a good day because – shock – I won two raffle ticket items!

OMGosh, I won the to-die-for “Chocolate Passion” cake donated by CB Confections from Warren, Ohio (her Facebook page is and… just as I wondered out loud how am I going to carry this luscious 6″ cake home with all my show stuff on a city bus, they called my number announcing I won an 8.5″ round cinch top bin in my favorite Thirty-One pattern donated by Carrie Radcliff. Wow!  That was like magic, spoke into being… the cake fit perfectly inside the bin, nestled and protected with a fabric table cover, and the drawstring cinched on the cake’s pretty bow tied cellophane to keep it centered.  Then both slid into the canvas tote to hang on my roll cart, the tote that had carried my donation to the show.

If you are not familiar with Thirty-One products, visit OR better yet, so the lady who donated the bag will get the credit if you decide to purchase anything.

As much as I enjoy craft shows, they are not the best venue for my products (buttons) due to a simple Marketing 101 concept: know your customers. Do they shop at craft shows?

So, I need to think about that… and explore other types of venues.

Thanks for reading!

Monday Medley

Must be screw Nancy day, or take advantage of kindly looking people day or just a messed up Monday.

It started out to be a good day with morning visitors and pleasant conversations, then I went to get a cig and whoa… where is my last pack of smokes? They did not just walk out the frikkin door.

Afraid so, but doubt if it was on purpose. I’ve had to say “hey, that’s my pack” on other occassions when absentminded people who smoke the same brand try to pocket my smokes. I just wasn’t paying attention today. My neighbor was kind enough to buy me a new pack on his daily beer run, so it was just a temporary irritation. Then I visited with his mother for awhile, who kindly brought me some craft supplies, and called myself a taxi cab instead of watching today’s episode of Y&R.

I should have known, but how was I supposed to know that his turning onto Yo-Poland Road would be a longer scenic route instead of a time saving shortcut? Racking the cab fare up higher than the usual $9 fare hitting South Avenue or the $7 fare, when cabbies take the real shortcut to this destination, cost the man his tip. I did not take a taxi home, they got enough cash out of me today, so I opted to pay 70 cents (disability rate with a transfer) and ride the WRTA bus all the way downtown to the station to wait 40 minutes outside in a cold drizzle rain before hopping another bus back out to this burb I call home, a journey of darn near two hours including wait times.

Since I was unshopping at lunch time (returning an obviously previously returned by someone else impossible to assemble stool and getting store crediit instead of a cash refund even with my receipt), I stopped at a Subway and ordered a $3 sandwich that was advertized on a sign.

What would I like on it? Spinach, green peppers, red onions…. a slice of bacon. She overcharged me $2 plus change for that ONE slice of bacon, or rather, they returned $2 and change after I asked why it cost so much more than advertised.

Yes, it was one of those days. But, it wasn’t all bad. One of the main reasons I headed to this shopping plaza today was to get last week’s hair cut fixed.

Oh my, it was BAD. It was chopped up crazy in uneven lengths. The front didn’t match the back, bangs were a wavy crookeed mess, even the sides did not match each other. I’ve had a hell of a time trying to make it look okay and of course, only AFTER voicing my own opinion about it did I hear the opinions of others… they thought it was bad but didn’t want to say anything. Some people thought I must have let my four-year-old granddaughter cut my hair. They said it looked like a “pixie mullet” and other not-so-kind words that I will not repeat in blog world. It was bad.

I’ve never returned a haircut before. I was a bit leary of asking for a redo considering some of the chopped hairs were only a half inch long, like how short can I go? But, I got a good stylist today. She trimmed it up nice, managed to style it so it doesn’t look way too short and showed me how I can comb it my usual way, then showed me how to spike it. Then she flat out refused my generous tip, despite my insistance that I always tip the stylist, and sent me on my way with no charge for the redo, a $5 coupon, and some product samples.

Wow. I did not expect that. When I get foils this summer, I am going to call first to make sure she’s there as I don’t want anyone else doing my hair.

Considering the day I was having, spiked hair was perfect. And, of course you know, a binger automatically wants to “treat” herself in attempt to forget all the crap that is going on, to try to feel better on a sucky day, so I wanted a treat, some mouth candy, having such an oral personality and all. No, not a tub of ice cream and all the crap that goes on it.

Remember “pink therapy”? The treat myself with pink things like lipsticks or whatever as little rewards for good behavior? Well, I was good today, handled difficulties diplomatically and politely. I didn’t cuss anyone out, didn’t get rude, and although it was very tempting to hunt the person down who walked off with my last pack of smokes and knock the snot out of them, I let it go. I also managed to laugh and enjoy conversations with people I haven’t seen in awhile, which made the long bus ride home more pleasant. It wasn’t such a bad day after all. Just a day to be aware that other people’s intentions (and errors) are not always good for me.

Yes, I treated myself to a new tube of lipstick. The color is not push-over pink. I wanted something out of character, a color that I have never worn before, a shade made for women sporting spiked hair.

I got red. Really Red. Or at least that is what it is called. I may never wear it out in public, just as I may never wear my hair spiked again, but I got it if I ever feel like it. And it’s not half bad. Thanks for reading.