I dislocated my shoulder last weekend. (Long story short - I slipped and fell down some stairs. Then I dropped a couple dozen F-bombs, went into shock, and had to go to the Emergency Room. Not fun!)
My wife - my wonderful wife - remained as calm as she could, googled the nearest hospital, and got me in front of a doctor within 25 minutes. A couple x-rays and one hour later and the shoulder was back in place.
My shoulder is pretty swollen and I have to keep my arm in a sling for a couple weeks. But the pain now is nothing compared to the pain of those 90 minutes when it was out of the socket.
After a couple days to reflect on that agonizing experience I can’t stop thinking about how utterly awful it was to go to the ER. Yes, the pain was excruciating and no one wants to go through something like that. But I’m talking about the way I was met with complete indifference and no compassion. I can’t stop thinking about that.
When we pulled up to the ER, I stumbled out of the car and walked towards the doors. They wouldn’t open. I was shaking, cold, and clutching my arm like a madman. I could see people moving inside but no one was heading in my direction. Luckily, I noticed a small sign that said the actual entrance was around the corner. But no one pointed us there, no one helped us. I had to notice it myself, through all my pain, and walk around to a different door.
Once inside, there was no one in sight. I went to the help desk and loudly shouted “Hello, is anyone here?” Stephanie pounded on the window. No one came out. I couldn’t stop shaking or sweating and could barely open my eyes. We didn’t know what to do.
Finally, a security guard walked out - in no hurry whatsoever - and said, “How can I help you?” Stephanie explained and he slowly went to get someone. There was no concern, no emotion, no rush to assist.
A woman emerged from the back to take my information down. Stephanie composed herself and gave my name and address to the lady. She had to ask multiple times for the spelling of my name, even though Steph had given it slowly and completely already. It took way too long.
We finally got back to the room and were told someone would be with us shortly. There was nothing happening in the ER. It wasn’t a busy night. From what we could tell it was just me and one other guy, a young kid who injured himself committing a crime. The police were there, I remember that. And someone mentioned cocaine and heroin. Two completely different cases, on opposite sides of the corridor.
It took way too long to get someone to come treat me. I yelled out “Is someone going to help me?” And no one came. No one asked me if I was okay or told me I would be better. No one consoled my wife or offered us a drink of water. No one told me not to panic. Everyone just moved slowly around without really letting us know what was happening.
I got an IV with a heavy dose of morphine, then pushed down the hall in a wheelchair for some x-rays. Then, the doctor put my shoulder back into place and I could finally open my eyes. And then, he just kind of left. We sat in the room until I felt like I could walk again and, unsure what to do, asked someone if we could go. They grabbed a print-out of some general information about a shoulder dislocation and a prescription for pain meds, without any other information. Then we showed ourselves out and drove home.
Going to the hospital is a dreadful experience. It’s scary and unwanted. And expensive as hell. In the city I think it’s even worse. The amount of people they see must be insane. They have a constant stream of patients and procedures to deal with. And so, it’s a very impersonal experience.
But does it have to be? Is it too much to ask someone for some simple kindness or compassion? Especially in a time of trauma? I’ve been to dentists, podiatrists, physical therapists, and now the ER, and each time the experience was similar: cold, impersonal, nerve wracking, and apathetic.
As a self-employed artist my health care costs in America are outrageous. We get ripped off every year. And for what we pay, you’d expect the service to be top-notch. But it isn’t. It’s a joke.
It’s so bad that it makes me put off going to the doctor. It makes me not want to go at all. It’s made my wife break down into tears at appointments when doctors weren’t listening to her. And it’s made me scream into the void of the ER when I didn’t have a clue if anyone was going to help me.
I was thinking that coming onstage at a mind reading show must feel a lot like going to the hospital. People get nervous and scared. They’re uncertain and uncomfortable. And it’s my job as a performer to put them at ease. It’s my job to give people the best experience possible in a situation that they quite possibly fear the most.
This is perhaps the most important skill we can learn as performers or presenters. We must make other people feel comfortable being in our environment. It could be as simple as adjusting a thermostat and rearranging the seating. Or it could be as tricky as inviting a nervous person onstage to assist. But it’s crucial to treat people how we’d like to be treated - as a person, a fellow human being - and not as a mere prop or object being pushed aimlessly down a hallway without even knowing why.
That responsibility rests squarely on our shoulders - dislocated or not.
Other Thoughts:
I love October. It's just the best time of year. I love haunted houses, sweaters, fall weather, apple picking, and everything in between. We had a pumpkin carving party this week and I think they turned out pretty great:
Catch me November 9th and 10th at the Chicago Magic Lounge. Shows are almost SOLD OUT but you still may be able to get a ticket here.
What I’m Watching Now: “Succession” on HBO. The hype is real.
Check out this week's video:
