COLUMN: "Headed for Law School, Two Columnists Discuss the Profession"

From Nathaniel Cade's "The Sheriff of Ridge Rock," Fall '92From Nathaniel Cade's "The Sheriff of Ridge Rock," Fall '92Accompnaied by a column by Brian Newberry. Don't worry. Nothing got in the food. Besides, I quit that job later anyway, "Hated it!" Anyway, after I cut myself, I had to make a short trek over to the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. The nurse was real friendly as she bandaged my hand and made me wait my turn alongside the truly ill -- those hypochondriacs who haven't been shot, aren't in labor or are able to walk in on their own. Once she finished taking what seemed to be one of those L.A. Law-like depositions, I had to face the worst part of the emergency room: going over insurance information with those ladies behind the thick glass. After making sure that the hospital would get its money even if I should sadly pass away or skip town, I was sure I would get to see a doctor. After all, I had cut a vessel on my finger and was bleeding profusely. Alas, she told me to take a seat in the waiting room. As soon as I took my seat, however, I was summoned by the first nurse, Renee, to follow someone to radiology so my finger could be X-rayed. Radiology really wasn't a place. It was more like a junction between two corridors. There were a lot of elderly people there, all waiting to have their hips and legs photographed. Somehow, I was seen before they were. The nurse in radiology was quite friendly. She even suggested that I wear one of those huge what-felt-like-armor police-style-bullet-proof vests. When I pointed out that the vest didn't cover my arms, she said it didn't matter. As long as my testicles were covered, I would be fine. Well, you can't argue with logic. After finishing with radiology, I got to go back to the waiting room. But hey, "Cops" was on and it was shot (bad pun) in Philadelphia. I then became engaged in conversation with this guy who, although he was very sick, never checked in. He just kept coughing on me. Finally, one of those big Hulk-size nurses called me into the back. At last, I was going to see a doctor. But first, I would have to wait what seemed like hours -- probably because it was -- before I did. Dr. Diette informed me that there was very little he could do He couldn't sew anything back because there was nothing to sew back on. I would have to just sit tight, keep pressure on my finger, and wait for the hand-specialists to come look at it. But what he didn't know was that telling me to sit tight is like telling a baby not to pee in his diapers so you won't have to change them at some huge public function. It ain't gonna happen. I began wandering around the ER and noticed the place was abuzz. Turns out that someone had been shot in head and the ambulance was bringing him in. Finally, I would get to see some action, and I bet that I wouldn't have to wait for him to give his insurance information. When they brought him in he was unconscious, well, because he had been shot in the head. There wasn't much blood so I didn't stay too long to watch. It's like those car accidents you see on the highway. The more ambulances you see, the slower you drive to watch. After a few more hours, the hand specialists arrived. This was a Laurel and Hardy duo if I ever saw one. Dr. Lorich was massive while Dr. Copley was rather thin. Dr. Lorich reiterated what Dr. Diette had said about not being able to sew anything back on. He then had Dr. Copley bandage me up. Before he left, though, he told Chris, the nurse, to give me a shot of some antibacterial medication. While engaging in small talk with Dr. Copley, I found out that he had gone to school in Kansas. Anytime I meet someone from Kansas, I always want to ask them about Dorothy and Toto, but seeing as he was nice and could have really inflicted pain on me, I didn't. When Chris came to give me my shot, I was expecting one of those little wimpy needles. But no, that would be too easy. Instead, she brought the Excalibur model which featured a four-inch needle. She then instructed me to take off my pants. Normally, when a woman tells me to take off my pants, I do so without hesitation. However, when she is holding a big-ass needle in her hand, I have problems with it. She finally stuck me after I begged her to be gentle. I got my prescription from Dr. Diette, and was free to go. It wasn't that bad. I was only there for five hours. · I realize that HUP is not a McDonald's drive-thru and that I shouldn't expect quick service because these people are professionals, but five hours? Why did it take so damn long? Dan Quayle seems to have provided the answer. Granted, Little Danny is no mental giant, nor is he a Jack Kennedy, or even a Murphy Brown, but he does give decent answers. He told the American Bar Association at their annual convention that there were too many lawyers and that we sought litigation too much. In a way, as much as I hate to admit it, Danny-boy is right. The doctors at HUP knew there was very little that they could do for me, except bandage my hand. However, fearful of being sued for not taking every precautionary step possible, I endured a five hour wait. The reality is that we as a nation do sue too often. Every little cut or scrape seems to eventually involve litigation, and the only ones profiting are lawyers and insurance companies. So for all of you future doctors, be prepared to order unnecessary testing for your patients and pay exorbitant insurance premiums. The only thing I want to know, Mr. Quayle, is if there are too many lawyers, what do you plan on doing come January 20? Probably the same thing I plan on doing when I get out of law school in four years -- mooching off the public. Nathaniel Cade is a senior Economics and Political Science major from Detroit, Michigan. "The Sheriff of Ridge Rock" normally appears alternate Thursdays.