"There are always going to be hospital
dramas because
if you're sitting in an emergency room for two hours,
I
guarantee you you are going to see something that
makes you gasp. That's
where drama comes from."
― Rocky Carroll
The pain and pressure behind my left shoulder blade woke me up. I tried to lie still and willed it to go away. It didn't. I raised my left arm to see if there was any pain there. Nothing. Good. The pressure got worse, so at 3:55 am, I finally woke Mike.
"Is it heartburn?" he asked me. We had had Mexican food the night before.
"This is definitely not heartburn," I whined. I got up in hopes that standing would help, and I was immediately nauseous and dizzy. Not good at all. "Oh, my God." I couldn't stand up straight.
Because we have a history of heart problems in our families, Mike and I have always been on top of our heart health. I know the six signs of heart attacks in women, but I looked them up Saturday morning anyway. "Pressure or pain in the back or chest. Shortness of breath. Pain in the neck, jaw, stomach, back, or arms. Nausea or vomiting. Sweating. Fatigue. My God. I have five of them." We got dressed and headed to the hospital.
A nurse came out as soon as we told the desk clerk what was wrong, and as soon as I mentioned the pain and pressure in my back, he interrupted me.
"Let's get you back here right now." From the time we hit the door to the time I was on a gurney in ER32, maybe five minutes had passed. One nurse asked me questions while another hooked me up to an EKG, blood pressure cuff, and oxygen sensor; inserted an IV line; and took a blood sample. The ER physician came in and asked me a few questions. X-ray came in and took a chest x-ray. The ER doc came back in and asked more questions. The nurse hooked me up to fluids and left. It was, by that time, about 5:30 or so.
I ended up spending 13 hours in the hospital emergency room Saturday while they ran tests and admitted me to the hospital so I could have a stress test (more on that next blog). For most of those 13 hours, I tried to get comfortable on the gurney—sit, recline, lie flat, sit, lie flat, recline—and watched what went on around me.
The Old Man
About an hour after I arrived, an older man (aka Gramps) clutching a set of x-rays and doctor's notes walked into the ER9 across from me. A female nurse talked with him, and while I couldn't hear what she was saying, Gramps was loud enough for everyone within a five-mile radius to hear. He proceeded to explain that he came in because he had a "retention" problem. His doctor had catheterized him and instructed him on doing it himself, but he was unable to do it that night, so he had retention. "I probably have an infection," he continued. I tried to block him out, but he was so loud, it was impossible. I put my arms over my head and ears and was able to fall into a slight twilight sleep.
When I got back from my CT scan, Mike the Husband had returned from getting coffee. "It seems the guy across the hall has a bit of a problem," he informed me.
"Yep. You missed the explanation of his problem to the nurse," I said. Mike the Husband informed me that Gramps had loudly told the doctor what was wrong, too. "Too much information," I said.
 |
| Oxygen sensor |
The ER Doc
At 7, a new ER doc came on duty and came to talk to me. Slight, young, and dressed in nothing that would lead anyone to know she was a doctor, she introduced herself as Dr. Taylor. Wearing black jeans and a red shirt with "SCRIBE" stitched across the back, an equally slight and young gal pushed a mobile computer desk and followed Dr. Taylor into my cubbie. While the doctor talked and I answered, the scribe typed into the computer.
When Dr. Taylor left, the young gal scurried after her. For the rest of the time I was in ER, I would see Dr. Taylor sprint down the hall followed momentarily by the scampering scribe.
The Old Lady
I was trying to sleep again when I heard commotion in the hallway. Paramedics wheeled a gurney down the hall and stopped in front of my cubicle. Sitting stock straight on the gurney was a little old lady (Mom) dressed in a black pant suit. She clutched a large leather purse in her hands and had matching black shoes on her feet.
"She had chest pain," one of the paramedics said to the nurse. "She lives in Pacifica." (Pacifica is an assisted living facility next to the hospital.)
"She was here a month ago," the nurse replied and turned her attention to Mom. "Honey, are you okay?" The squad transferred Mom to the ER gurney, and while one completed paperwork with the nurse, the other wheeled the ambulance gurney into the hall.
"Ooooo. There's a different uniform," Gramps said. "You don't work here." The paramedic looked at the old man.
"I work on the ambulance," he replied. Gramps tried to engage the paramedic in a conversation about the guy's job and his experience with ambulances in the past. The poor tech tried to be polite, but he seemed extremely happy when his partner finished and they could go back to work.
The Old Man
"When do we get lunch?" Gramps asked our new nurse, Mike.
"Well," Mike the Nurse replied, "it's only 10:00 am. Besides, we don't serve lunch in ER."
"Okay," Gramps said. "I'll wait. Can we order what we want, or do they just bring something." Mike the Nurse explained again that they didn't serve meals in ER.
The Old Lady
A portly man with long, curly hair lumbered into Mom's cublicle. "What happened this time?" He asked his mother. I couldn't hear her answer. He reminded me of Newman from Seinfeld if Newman had long, curly hair. Dr. Taylor dashed into the cubbie, and the scribe skidded to a stop behind her.
"I'm Dr. Mike So-and-So. I'm a pediatrician here," Mike the Son said to Dr. Taylor. They proceeded to discuss Mom and her condition for a few minutes. Dr Taylor, followed by her scribe, hurried away, and Mike the Nurse went in. "I'm Dr. Mike So-and-So. I'm a pediatrician here," Mike the Son informed Mike the Nurse who asked him a number of questions about Mom for the record.
Mike the Son's phone rang after Mike the Nurse left. "Yes," Mike the Son answered, "she's here again. It's the same-old-same-old," he whined. "She had chest pain, and they called for an ambulance. So, here we are." He handed the phone to his mother. "Here. Talk to Martha." Mom chatted with Martha for a few minutes, and when she hung up, she and her son discussed her condition.
"I don't know if they'll admit you again," he informed her. "They may send you home."
"I can go back to Pasadena?" she asked.
"No, you can't go back to Pasadena," he told her. "You live here now. I chose the place next door since it's close to me, my work, and the hospital."
"Oh, Michael. Why don't you go home? I don't want to be a problem."
"It's too late, Mom," he snapped at her. "You already are."
The Old Man
Dr. Taylor dashed into the old man's cubicle around noon to let him know that they had found nothing and that he could go home. Gramps started to cry.
"What's wrong?" she asked him.
"I know something's wrong," he insisted. She told him that all the tests were negative, even the one that would show an infection. "But," she continued, "we are going to do a culture just to make sure. That will take a few days, though, and we can't keep you here that long."
Dr. Taylor skated down the hall with the scribe close behind, and Mike the Nurse went in to help Gramps calm down and change. Mike the Nurse closed the curtain, and Gramps gave him a lesson on insurance and the insurance business. Thirty minutes later, the old man shuffled out of the cubicle clutching the same x-rays and doctor's notes he had brought with him.
 |
| In ER |
The Old Lady
"Nurse. Nurse. Nurse." Most of them walked past without stopping, but the CNA would go in. Usually Mom just wanted to go to the restroom, and she needed help since they had leashed her to an IV pole.
"Nurse," she called out as one of the gals working another area walked by. The nurse made the mistake of going into the room. "I want lunch," Mom informed her.
The nurse repeated basically what Mike the Nurse had told Gramps earlier. "We don't serve lunch in ER."
"Well, you better get me lunch," Mom threatened, "or I'm leaving here. I will not stay." The little nurse walked out and rolled her eyes. "I mean it," Mom yelled from behind her.
Mike the Son came back, and Mom asked him why she was in the hospital. He explained, and for a minute, Mom was silent. She said, "I can walk home from here when they let me go."
"You cannot walk home, Mom," he again snapped. "I'll have to take you." His phone rang again, and he answered and repeated his mantra. "Yes, she's here again. It's the same-old-same-old. Chest pain. Ambulance. Here, Mom. Talk to Celeste." Mom was talking to Celeste when a cardiologist walked into her cubicle. Sonny stood up and offered his hand. "I'm Dr. Mike So-and-so," he said. "I'm a pediatrician here."
The cardiologist glanced at him and replied, "I know who you are." He turned his attention to Mom who was still chatting on the phone. Mike the Son grabbed the phone from Mom, and the cardiologist started asking her questions.
"Do you know where you are?" he asked her. "What hospital is this?"
"Kaiser," she replied.
"No," Mike the Son said. "You're not in Pasadena. You're in Las Vegas."
"Oh," she replied. "That's right. I forgot."
'Let her answer," the cardiologist said. "I'm talking to her." For the next 10 or so minutes, Mom and the cardiologist talked, and the son interjected comments here and there. "She needs to learn when to call the paramedics and when to let the nitro do its job," he moaned to the cardiologist.
The Voice From Somewhere
The cardiologist left Mom's room.
"Get that doctor here now or I'm walking out," someone not in my line of sight hollered.
"You'd leave the hospital without being discharged?" a nurse asked.
'You bet your @$$ I would," the slightly angry voice replied. "When the #3!! is that doctor going to get here?"
"We've been busy all day," the nurse replied, and Dr. Taylor scampered past my cubbie on her way to the voice. "Here she comes now." The scribe dashed after her.
"It's about %$@%@^& time," the voice said.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Taylor sprinted up the hall with the scribe in hot pursuit.
The Gal in ER 32
Mike the nurse came to talk to me. "What are my chances of getting a room sometime in this century?" I asked. The hospital was completely full, and I had been number 6 on the list of admits from ER Saturday. He checked and came back to tell me that they were readying my room as we spoke. It was 4:15 or so.
Mike the Husband returned from a trip home to walk Riley, and I told him I was going to have a room for the night. We watched football again for a bit while we waited for my transport to the room. At 5:15, Mike the Nurse took the old wires off my telemetry unit, put a portable unit on me, and told me one of the CNAs would take me upstairs.
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