I was bitten in the thigh by a nasty dog on my last trip to Africa. Normally, the dog would be checked for rabies and that would determine the course of action for the person who'd been attacked. But I was in Africa and things work differently there. I cleaned up my own wound and a couple of days later when I was at the medical clinic on an errand, I asked the nurse about my bite. She insisted on beginning the rabies series but I politely declined saying I was heading home in a couple of days and would deal with it there.
David had made arrangements for me to receive the first shot in the rabies series as soon as I got home. So, my plane lands and and he whisks me off, first to my doctor for a written rabies prescription, then to Good Samaritan hospital for the rabies and immune globulin injections. I hadn't yet begun foaming at the mouth and was happy to be treated in the US where we have competent medical staff.
At 4:20 p.m. I check in at Good Sam's triage office. They asked me a load of questions, put an ID band on my wrist and passed me off to a nurse who put me in cubicle #24, just outside the nurse's station.
At 4:30 a doctor came in, asked all the pertinent questions and said the shots were on their way from the pharmacy. I'm impressed because I'm going to be poked by a couple of needles and out of there in no time.
At 5:30 we hear the medical staff discussing rabies. One of them said that in Africa the rabies shots they use on people are the same ones they use on animals, and how could they be so backwards and incompetent, and so on.
At 6:00 p.m. we hear the medical staff discussing my dosage, trying to figure out just how much to give me.
At 6:15 p.m. the medical staff is still struggling with the dose so I get up from my skinny little bed, pull the hospital gown closed behind me, open the curtain to my cubicle, and say, "Excuse me, but you're making me a little bit nervous with all these questions about how much to give me." A cute little nurse dressed all in pink whips around and snaps, "If you weren't so close to the station you wouldn't have even heard this conversation!" (Not the point.) I suggest they call the doctor and she says they don't have his number. I tell her I do and give her the number.
At 6:35 p.m. The doctor comes into the ER, takes two seconds to tell the nurse what the dose is, comes in to chat with me about Africa, and leaves.
At 7:00 p.m. another nurse (a nice one this time) comes into my cube, takes 20 minutes to enter the vacine data into a computer.
At 7:20 p.m. I get the rabies shot, then the nice nurse injects the immune globulin smack in the middle of the wound, she also stabs my arm. Ouch! Ouch! and Ouch again!
At 7:21 p.m. I fall asleep. (I'd only been awake for 49 hours at that point.)
At 7:40 p.m. the nurse wakes me up, and showing no sign of reaction I am released to go home.
My total time at the US emergency room was 3 1/2 hours.
Rewind four days: At the clinic in Africa the nurse took one look at my dog bite, went into another room, came out with the rabies shot and was ready to stick me with it. At the clinic in Africa a competent nurse would have had me out of there in five minutes flat.
Go figure.
