The Montreal General Hospital

I like to say that I roll with a crowd of libertarians who believe in the value of capitalism and a free market economy. Then I go and do something like move to Canada and throw everyone through a loop. It’s important to keep them on their toes.

After four days of being sick and experiencing horrible stomach pain, my boyfriend convinced me to go to the hospital. I tried not to think about it too much as I got out of bed, got dressed, and called an Uber. On the way to the hospital, it took all of my energy to ignore the fact that I was going alone. It took me thirty minutes to find the emergency area and another forty-five to be triaged.

Several bouts of the same set of questions later and I was in a room with a gown on. An IV had been aggressively stuck up my arm and I had been given the largest dose of acetaminophen and ibuprofen I’d ever taken. They did an ultrasound, they couldn’t do anything for me, and sent me on my way.

I was in the ER until seven in the morning. When I got home, I slept for five hours before my family woke me up in a panic.

I’m tired, this blog has no point nor does it need one. It’s just a story about the time I was 18 and took myself to the hospital for the first time. It was a long, scary, exhausting process that I will hopefully never go through again.


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