Adventures In Belligerent, Drunken ER Visits: Severe Facial Trauma Edition

Rob Fox12 years ago

When I saw my friend laying there on the wet parking lot, having suffered the exact same sort of fall I had several years ago, I assumed he was fine. The fall didn’t seem too hard, and I remembered my own minor injuries from my similar fall, so I laughed and reached down to pick him up. He was still limp as I attempted to pull him up. He wasn’t cooperating, at all, so I rolled him over instead.

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

His face was covered in blood. It looked like he had been beaten by a group of MMA fighters, because he had committed a hate crime against a mentally handicapped person someone who wears Affliction. Laughter quickly turned to a now far less jovial series of “oh shits.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He was in a stupor. He might have been concussed, he was definitely shitfaced, much more so than I assumed he was moments earlier.

“Wha…what?”

There was too much blood for me to see the exact damage, but I assumed it was a bloody nose. I hoped it was a bloody nose. I pulled my friend to his feet and inspected the damage.

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

His front teeth were gone. Completely fucking gone. Well, that’s not true. There were bits and pieces. The right one was about 90% chipped. The left one…dear God that left one. It had shattered. I had never seen anything like it. There were bits of tooth still there, but in different places. There was a little here and a little there. His mouth would have horrified a hockey player. He could’ve tried to blow a statue and suffered less dental trauma.

Thankfully, he was too drunk to read my eyes, which were screaming like a little girl standing face to face with a naked, murderous, chainsaw wielding clown. Unfortunately he was starting to regain a situational awareness. It took another four or five seconds before he stuck his tongue where his teeth used to be and realized what had happened.

“Wha..WHAT THE FUCK!”

“I know man, I know,” I tried to reassure him. “We’re going to the ER.”

“No FUCK that!” he shouted defiantly. “We’re going downtown.”

“Dude, you’re covered in blood and you’re missing teeth. You need to go to the hospital.”

“No…NO. Here’s what we’re doin’. We’re goin’ downtown. We’re getting’ fucked up. We’re findin’ sluts.”

His determination was admirable, I’ll give him that, though it might have just been drunken denial. But if anyone can bang out some random chick from a bar while missing two teeth and covered in blood, it’s this guy. Seriously. Regardless of whether or not he could have actually charmed his way through a horrific facial injury with a girl, he definitely wasn’t going to pull that off with a bouncer. Still, I knew there was no convincing him otherwise, so I told him we were going downtown, just to get him into my car.

Once in the car I headed directly to the ER. He had no idea where we were going, but that didn’t make the drive any less difficult. I don’t know if he was trying to make himself look presentable or just filled with rage, but he spent the car ride trying to rip out what was left of his two front teeth with his bare hands. It was pretty horrifying to watch. I tried to stop him. I had one hand restraining his arms and the other hand on the wheel. It was raining by the way. This car was completely devoid of good ideas.

By the time we pulled up to the ER his entire front and both of my arms were covered in blood. Considering how we were dressed we probably looked like we had just slaughtered a stripper at a bachelor party. It didn’t take him long to realize where we were, and being blackout drunk he immediately began to throw a fit that only blackout drunks and toddlers on steroids are capable of throwing.

I insistently dragged him into the ER, which is located in a quiet, nice, suburban part of town. We got to the front desk and the three nurses who were standing around reception all gave us a look of “JESUS CHRIST.” They didn’t even ask what was wrong, they just buzzed us in, one of the perks of being drenched in blood, I imagine.

Once we were in, I explained what happened as they calmed my friend down and put him on a bed. I joined him in his “room” (a bed with a curtain around it) and a nurse cleaned his face. He had a deep gash on his chin, his top lip was ripped open, and of course his teeth looked like he had just pissed off Nazi Ed Norton.

As soon as his face was clean he wanted to leave. The nurse explained that he needed stitches and should probably get an X-ray. He explained that the nurse was a fucking idiot. Thankfully the nurse was a guy, so I didn’t feel that bad about what he said. Still, my friend was trying to refuse treatment, and he really needed stitches.

I made the mistake of leaving him alone for a minute to back out to my car and plug in my phone. When I got back he had refused an X-ray and was again refusing stitches. At this point I tried to talk some drunk sense into him with some tough love. Unfortunately he’s a pretty stubborn drunk (aren’t we all?) and that didn’t take. He kept trying to get up and leave, despite the gaping hole in his chin, mangled lip, and shattered teeth, so I shoved him back onto his bed and gave him one final warning.

“Sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and get fucking stitches. Your face split fucking open. What is wrong with you? For the love of God just get some stitches and stop being a fucking idiot!”

With that he sat down. Moments later the nurse kicked me out of the “room” for shoving him. Apparently pushing a horrifically injured patient in an ER is a no no. It’s an insurance liability or something. I spent the next thirty minutes watching Two and a Half Men on the ER television as I listened to my friend call the doctor and several nurses “fucking idiots” multiple times while they put his face back together. I wanted to laugh, but I thought they’d get pissed, plus Two and a Half Men was on TV, so I didn’t have anything other than my friend’s douchebaggery to blame the laughter on.

We finally got out of the ER at about 4:00am. My friend was given several prescriptions and a few cosmetic surgeon recommendations. Hopefully they do good work, he used to be the most handsome guy at the bar. I took my friend home, and then, exhausted and hungry, I stopped at a Whataburger. The next day, Sunday, I came into the office to write the Otis Day column I posted later that night. That’s when I received these texts from the guys at Atomic Productions.

Sounds like we would have had more fun with them.