Nightmare in the ER

Last night I had the misfortune of spending fours hours in an emergency room. I was ready for it, having read Dante's Inferno in college -- the ER was the 10th Circle of Hell -- but still it was shocking. Naturally I was in a crabby mood, feeling sick enough to go there, but my mood worsened considerably when I saw the other patients. It was like a meeting of Weight Watchers, but without the hope. Everywhere I looked I saw incredibly out of shape bodies. One of the very fattest belonged to a male doctor who waddled around the place like a penguin. The whole scene was nightmareish.

An image burned into my brain that I'm hoping will go away soon is of an elderly man sitting directly across from me, hooked up to an IV pole. He looked like hell but was eating a Whopper and pulling French fries from a greasy paper bag positioned on his lap. In my delicate condition, extremely nauseous and thinking I was having another heart attack, the food odor totally grossed me out. Here he was in the ER, on an IV drip, and chomping down a burger and fries. Is that even legal?

Two women in their twenties were having a great time together, laughing and scrolling their cell phones as if they were at a singles bar. Neither one seemed the slightest bit sick, unless they had gone there for obesity: the thinner one with the hospital bracelet probably weighed in at 210, while her friend may have hit 250. I wanted to ask why they were there but my husband thought that was in poor taste. 

Most of the other people were quiet and despairing, staring into space or nodding off. I fell into that category. 

I left early, after all my tests but before I got the results, which I was told would take about another hour. I went home and went to sleep and woke up this morning and was thrilled to see that I had not died. I also understood that our health is the only true treasure we have that must be guarded at all costs. To that end, having seen the obvious correlation between obesity and health problems, I may never eat again.