I have yet to find efficiency in this city. It was my turn in room 3002 to be sick. I hate doctors, so I try to avoid them at all costs, but after three days of being sick and not getting better, I decided to brave the New York City public hospitals to find out what I already knew. I arrive at Saint Vincent's Emergency room. I do not have blood bulging from my insides or broken bones, just a cough and sore throat. I found the emergency room, and ladies and gentlemen, it is nothing like ER.
First, you write down your name and reason for coming and submit that piece of paper to a short, mouthy, woman. Then you wait, and wait and wait. And then when they call your name, you go in the receptionist office. They take your blood pressure and temperature, and they send you back into the waiting room, to wait, and wait, and wait. And then you wait some more, and between an old woman practically dying across from you and a woman blabbing about how she broke her elbow, you wait some more. Finally, they call your name again, but are you are instructed to go to Registration. Does this mean you get to see a doctor? Nope, they need your insurance information, which takes another 20 minutes. Then you go back into the waiting room, and wait.
So, I play Mrs. Pacman on my cell phone until a nurse comes out and calls my name. I jump up, eager to see the doctor. But then two others follow my name, and we all proceed into the forbidden back room, where we wait again. When they are finally ready for me, a woman breaks through the doors bawling and yelling hysterically. My doctor is sidetracked, so I wait more. Finally, the doctor comes into my little corner and looks down my throat, listens to my breathing, asks me a few questions and concludes she will treat me for strep throat and bronchitis. Four hours of waiting and waiting and waiting for a 10 minute diagnosis. That's what I call efficiency. I promise, I will find it in this city; it must exist.
