I sensed a commotion rippling across the emergency room. near the entrance, a man sporting a surgical mask and pajamas was pacing like a tethered ferret. It was 2 a.m., but as a rule most patients don’t wear their PJ’s to the ER. Something was strange about this one. Heading over, I watched as Claudia, the intake nurse, tried to coax him into the triage chair. He sat for a moment, stood up, then plopped back down.
“I need to see your expert,” he spat out. “I have to do this quickly.”
“Do what, sir?” Claudia asked.
The patient sprang up. “I can’t feel my legs. I can’t breathe. Where’s your expert?”
His wife walked calmly over from the registration desk.
