Of Emergencies, OR an Unexpected Slice of England

I was sick between roughly June 27 and 3rd with some kind of debilitating stomach virus, and on the worst night of it, Sunday June the 30th, I actually ended up asking a friend to take me to the local emergency room. I thought this would be an okay move to make because I was horribly ill and quite scared — I had been having trouble bringing a high fever down for over 24 hours already, and generally speaking, when a fever is sustained for that long in the US, they tend to suggest that you see a doctor as soon as possible.

What I wasn’t expecting, though, was that the local hospital in Oxford would get angry with me for coming in. They didn’t say this directly, mind you, they went about it in a passive-aggressive way in which they ~so helpfully~ wrote down suggested phone numbers and doctors’ names on a slip of paper and told me to go there instead for my next Sunday night emergency.

Except nothing but the hospital is open on the weekend. I think they forgot that bit.

They also made fun of the medicine I’d been taking, calling it “archaic,” complained to me about unreasonable American medical customs (as if I personally had something to do with their perpetuation or popularity), and generally made my visit infinitely unpleasant whilst simultaneously making me question my own intelligence and worth as a person, hah. All in a day’s work for a particularly disgruntled medical professional.

I don’t have photos of the emergency room; I thought that would be tacky. And possibly in violation of confidentiality guidelines. Here, have some campus shots instead:

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Also went punting today:


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