I'd Rather Die Than Go To Methodist Hospital (No, really, I would)

photo via: Brooklyn Paper

Ahhh New York hospitals. Teeming with the pathogen-ridden homeless, gun-toting visitors and totally inept people. Yeah, I said it.

That kitchen mishap you think requires stitches? Buck up and settle for an ugly scar—the ER is not worth it.

But surely we must have it better in the best neighborhood in the universe? Surely our BREEDING and BALLING are said universe’s top priorities? Right?!?

No.

Yes, Methodist Hospital is conveniently located, by which I mean, FUCK YEAH there’s a Five Guys across the street, but that’s where the convenience ends. As someone who has to visit the doctor/specialist/ER an average of 10 times a year, I have clocked in some serious hours at Methodist. And it’s often quite the shit show. Here is what I LOVE about this place (note: the sarcasm button has just been switched on):

* I LOVE that when I approach the ER front desk with chest pains and a “medical alert” heart rate, the FIRST fucking words out of the registration chick’s mouth are, “The wait is really long.” What is this, a fucking chain restaurant on a Friday night? Wanna give me one of those buzzing things like at TGIF? I’ll be getting wasted in the hospital cafeteria in the mean time. I come here for shits and giggles anyway, not because OH I DON’T KNOW, I’m fucking sick and could have a heart attack?

* I LOVE that no matter how many times you plug my info into your Commodore computers, you always act like I have no healthcare plan when you bill me. Thanks for that. I don’t need any more impetus for having a heart attack. Plus, you should know by now that I don’t really pay bills for things I didn’t really enjoy in the first place. It’s the principal of the thing.

* I LOVE that you’re a teaching hospital and training the next generation of doctors. But when your resident asks ME where the IV usually goes and then embarks on a fucking expedition in my hand for five minutes, I’m a little concerned. It’s also why I decided that removing the IV myself when discharged was a perfectly acceptable decision. It’s the age of DIY, didn’t you hear?

* I LOVE when your nurses say things like “You’re too young to be sick” when I’ve lost half my blood and look like death. Really? So, who can I talk to then about this, because clearly a mistake was made when I was handed a serious chronic illness at the age of 23. Can I apply to get back the 2 years of my twenties I lost? K thanks bye.

* I LOVE when your doctors nonchalantly ask me, with a smile no less, if I know how fucked I’m gonna be from all the horrible long-term side effects of my medically-necessary steroid use. WAS THAT A SMILE JUST NOW? Barrel of fucking laughs this all is! That my bones are going to crumble to powder in 10-20 years? Yep, got it. That I could get leukemia? I know, awesome, isn’t it?! No, don’t stop now—keep listing!

But let’s not leave this on such a morbid note! Methodist wins for hottest ER doctors, hands down. And you’ll have plenty of time to primp in the ER bathroom while you wait your turn.