"Rapid Assessment Area"???

So Eva goes off to work as per usual yesterday morning. On Fridays I work 1-9:30, so I get to sleep in, do a little housework, plug away at the novel (65 pages and counting) and just generally relax for a little while.
I'm not too keen on "sleeping in": the older I get, the more I cherish every waking minute I'm not at work. Go to bed early? Yes, please: the earlier the better. But I don't feel right sleeping past sunrise, and besides, on Fridays the mornings are pretty much all I see of my wife. So I hauled ass out of bed and saw her off to work, then settled down into my story.
At about 8:30 the phone rang. Eva. In a great deal of pain. Like, we're talking barely able to move.
"You need to go to the hospital!"
She took entirely too much convincing from entirely too many people to see sense on this. I get it: I'm the same way. I've got to be in a crapload of pain to even think about going to a hospital, and sometimes the more pain I'm in, the less likely I'll actually go...for reasons that shall become clear very shortly.
So Eva's at the hospital at 9:00 a.m. I'm frantically getting dressed and de-Peaching the house (that's puppyproofing, if you're not us), and then I made the mistake of letting the Georgia-Peach outside.
She wouldn't come back in.
This is typical, and it usually happens at the worst possible time, like when I'm late for work, or maybe like when I'm trying to GET THE HELL OUT OF THE HOUSE AND TO A HOSPITAL. Nothing works. Bribe her with all manner of treats and she'll stare at you: I know what you're up to, you.
"Georgia, COME!"
(She does know "come", and will come...most of the time.)
"Daddy, no way!"
I send Tux out to herd her. Tux knows how to 'get the Peach'. But Peach only allows herself to be herded so far. Then she'll break free and run to the back of the yard again.
So I trudge out there, trying not to fall on my face. We'd had a brief but intense shot of totally unforecasted freezing rain an hour before. It had adhered to the record snow cover and every step invited a broken ankle.
Some kid goes by on the sidewalk and Georgia runs up to the side yard to investigate...then scoots into the house without any prompting.
If I'd known it would be that easy...
Okay. Gather up stuff. Book for Eva, book for me. Uniform and supper, in case I do get to go to work today. Bus tickets, keys, spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch...I'm gone.
By the time I get to Grand River Hospital it's a little past 10:00. Eva's waiting in the triage area, in the company of her friend Brenda.
Triage: according to standards I've read, you're supposed to be seen by a triage nurse within 15-20 minutes of your arrival at the hospital. This is one of those standards that's there so everyone can laugh at it. Eva wasn't assessed by the triage nurse until 11:00...then we sat for another hour until she was summoned to the "Rapid Assessment Area". Only patients allowed. Brenda and I are left in the waiting room, twiddling thumbs and thinking thoughts.
Gee, three hours until she's in the 'Rapid Assessment Area.' Is that good or bad?
Good: I can remember sitting in this room for almost six hours before a doctor showed up, once.
Bad: she got back there relatively quickly. This must be serious.
I try to lose myself in my book, but find myself looking up every three hours to find that three minutes have gone by and the "Rapid Assessment Area" is Canadian hospitalese for "waiting room 2".
I call work and let them know...there's still nothing to know.
Back to the book.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
4:00. I look up and Eva's not in there.
Somebody's seeing her.
Gee, only seven hours.
Only the beginning.
Let's do the Hospital Hokey-Pokey, shall we? You put your patient in, you take your blood test out, you put your patience in and you sit and wait about...
...another EIGHT HOURS.

Fantasy time. I've got a gun, and I'm going to enforce some priority aid around here. "Rapid Assessment Area" my ass.

Stomach issues. Not gall bladder-related, not life-threatening, but for awhile there it looked as if they might have to do "emergency surgery". Though how you can call it "emergency surgery" after you wait fifteen hours for it...oh, yeah, that's right, "regular" surgery means you wait months. The last set of tests came back negative, so she was discharged in the middle of the night.

She's home now, and feeling quite a bit better. So am I.