While I feel that the list of things wrong with healthcare today is long and plentiful, I cannot stop scratching my head over last night's trip to the ER.Now, the situation was one that I have dealt with before. You know, where the medical professionals ask you what your symptoms are and get you to the point where they hover between wanting you to self-diagnose or immediately insist that no matter what you "think" may be wrong with you, because you did not go the extra miles for medical school, you are of course an imbecile and immediately incorrect.
Example: I walked into an ER on July 22, 1992 with "severe stomach cramps 3 minutes apart". (I had learned in my 2 previous visits that to imply that I was having contractions was just wrong and stupid.)
So on that night I was met with the smug sneer of a female doctor of foreign descent who aggressively checked my cervix and declared:
- "...there are no contractions registering on the machine." (Ummmm...turns out she had the belt in the wrong spot. derrrrr.)
- "...you are not even dilated." (Possibly true, but who can believe her by the end of the story?)
She instructed me to go walk around for 2 hours and then check back with her.
Within 30 minutes my "non-contraction stomach cramps" were 45 seconds apart and Tyler was born from my un-dilated cervix about an hour and a half later.
OOOOOPS!
I know you are thinking that I was in some third world country doing missionary work at the time (*snicker*) but I was in fact in Ft. Lauderdale, FL.
(Not exactly a "small town"!)
Sooooooo, when I walked into the ER last night, I was more prepared than the average bear...or so I thought.
I even brought the list of all the meds I am taking with their doses and time of day.
There were several "red flags" that made Jay and I decide to hit the ER, both in my medical history and in the facts of the day.
I had awoke with what we thought was a back ache but as the day went on, we realized that it was more and more a chest pain that was shooting to my back and impeding my breathing.
I could only get about half an inhale and half an exhale without a sharp stabbing.
When Jay and I checked my heart rate, it was 107.
We didn't like that number, so we checked with a different heart rate monitor.
107.
We scratched our heads. I have low blood pressure and my resting heart rate is mid 50's to 60.
Not 107.
So when we enter the ER with this info and my history of blood clots and tumors, we feel confident that all will be solved...no matter how ugly.
100 questions, 15 vials of blood, 5 hours, 3 nurses, 2 EKGs, 1 doctor, 1 CT Scan and a partridge in a pear tree later, we know nothing more than we did when we sat dumbfounded looking at the "107" on both heart rate monitors.
Well...we DO know that we had a difficult time convincing them not to give me pain meds.
They seemed very confused by Jay and I. (We get that a lot actually.)
"We'll give her something for the pain."
"She doesn't want anything for the pain," Jay told the nurse gently.
(I had already gone over with her the things that I could not take, pain meds being the top.)
"What if I check and make sure that there isn't anything synthetic in it?" she asked me in her sweet and naive way as if Jay had not just spoken.
(Such an adorable little drug pusher!)
"No, I really would prefer to not have the pain meds."
I felt bad for her. I almost wanted to take the drugs just to make her happy. She was so nice.
The doctor himself irritated me more.
He kept digging through my records as if the answer to the pain would be there.
Hey jackoff, it it was in that file, I wouldn't have driven my sweet ass over here to pay you to tell me what the fuggin problem is.
JEEEEEBUS!
He seemed frustrated that I didn't have a blood clot in my heart or lungs.
(I, on the other hand, was thrilled!)
It was as if he had latched on to that hope from my file so that he wouldn't actually have to think for the night.
I feel his pain. Can you imagine the shit that an ER doctor sees on the final day of Memorial Day Weekend?
But still, I wasn't some drunken fucktard who thought that the river in a storm would be "adventurous" and "fun" and made more so with a few cases of Nat Light.
I am a sober, athletic female who deals with pain daily and tends to brush off most pain until Thursdays when Dr. Tim can work his magic.
Why was this doctor being lazy?
I shrugged it off and felt worse that I just spent 5 hours in a cold, dry, stinky building in a cotton assless nightgown watching cycling YouTube videos with Jay instead of sleeping.
I knew Jay felt the same way.
I was surprised then to have the doctor tell me that I "probably" have strained muscles around my heart and that he is going to prescribe me some pain meds.
(SERIOUSLY?!?!?!)
Do these people not listen/read?
I ask, "Assume that there is no pain. How would you treat this problem?"
He was genuinely puzzled.
"Ummmm...well...we would give you an anti-inflammatory, like Naproxen, which you can't take or Tylenol (which I cannot take but he cannot seem to comprehend that I cannot take)....*pause*...I can give you Vicodin, Percocet, Tylenol with Codeine...Which do you prefer?"
*Shaking my head in amazement but just want to leave and go home, I give him a free pass.*
"Why don't you just write me a script for whatever you think is best and I will fill it or not fill it at my discretion," I tell him.
(He does not see this as the cute little pat on the head that it is and I feel like a giant asshole though I am trying to be kind. However, the medical bill I will receive in the next 2 weeks reminds me that this is crap.)
This seems to make him happy and he walks away with a small spring in his step as if he won that little battle with the poor helpless patient.
I look at Jay and we both are thinking the same thing.
Within 30 minutes my "non-contraction stomach cramps" were 45 seconds apart and Tyler was born from my un-dilated cervix about an hour and a half later.
OOOOOPS!
I know you are thinking that I was in some third world country doing missionary work at the time (*snicker*) but I was in fact in Ft. Lauderdale, FL.
(Not exactly a "small town"!)
Sooooooo, when I walked into the ER last night, I was more prepared than the average bear...or so I thought.
I even brought the list of all the meds I am taking with their doses and time of day.
There were several "red flags" that made Jay and I decide to hit the ER, both in my medical history and in the facts of the day.
I had awoke with what we thought was a back ache but as the day went on, we realized that it was more and more a chest pain that was shooting to my back and impeding my breathing.
I could only get about half an inhale and half an exhale without a sharp stabbing.
When Jay and I checked my heart rate, it was 107.
We didn't like that number, so we checked with a different heart rate monitor.
107.
We scratched our heads. I have low blood pressure and my resting heart rate is mid 50's to 60.
Not 107.
So when we enter the ER with this info and my history of blood clots and tumors, we feel confident that all will be solved...no matter how ugly.
100 questions, 15 vials of blood, 5 hours, 3 nurses, 2 EKGs, 1 doctor, 1 CT Scan and a partridge in a pear tree later, we know nothing more than we did when we sat dumbfounded looking at the "107" on both heart rate monitors.
Well...we DO know that we had a difficult time convincing them not to give me pain meds.
They seemed very confused by Jay and I. (We get that a lot actually.)
"We'll give her something for the pain."
"She doesn't want anything for the pain," Jay told the nurse gently.
(I had already gone over with her the things that I could not take, pain meds being the top.)
"What if I check and make sure that there isn't anything synthetic in it?" she asked me in her sweet and naive way as if Jay had not just spoken.
(Such an adorable little drug pusher!)
"No, I really would prefer to not have the pain meds."
I felt bad for her. I almost wanted to take the drugs just to make her happy. She was so nice.
The doctor himself irritated me more.
He kept digging through my records as if the answer to the pain would be there.
Hey jackoff, it it was in that file, I wouldn't have driven my sweet ass over here to pay you to tell me what the fuggin problem is.
JEEEEEBUS!
He seemed frustrated that I didn't have a blood clot in my heart or lungs.
(I, on the other hand, was thrilled!)
It was as if he had latched on to that hope from my file so that he wouldn't actually have to think for the night.
I feel his pain. Can you imagine the shit that an ER doctor sees on the final day of Memorial Day Weekend?
But still, I wasn't some drunken fucktard who thought that the river in a storm would be "adventurous" and "fun" and made more so with a few cases of Nat Light.
I am a sober, athletic female who deals with pain daily and tends to brush off most pain until Thursdays when Dr. Tim can work his magic.
Why was this doctor being lazy?
I shrugged it off and felt worse that I just spent 5 hours in a cold, dry, stinky building in a cotton assless nightgown watching cycling YouTube videos with Jay instead of sleeping.
I knew Jay felt the same way.
I was surprised then to have the doctor tell me that I "probably" have strained muscles around my heart and that he is going to prescribe me some pain meds.
(SERIOUSLY?!?!?!)
Do these people not listen/read?
I ask, "Assume that there is no pain. How would you treat this problem?"
He was genuinely puzzled.
"Ummmm...well...we would give you an anti-inflammatory, like Naproxen, which you can't take or Tylenol (which I cannot take but he cannot seem to comprehend that I cannot take)....*pause*...I can give you Vicodin, Percocet, Tylenol with Codeine...Which do you prefer?"
*Shaking my head in amazement but just want to leave and go home, I give him a free pass.*
"Why don't you just write me a script for whatever you think is best and I will fill it or not fill it at my discretion," I tell him.
(He does not see this as the cute little pat on the head that it is and I feel like a giant asshole though I am trying to be kind. However, the medical bill I will receive in the next 2 weeks reminds me that this is crap.)
This seems to make him happy and he walks away with a small spring in his step as if he won that little battle with the poor helpless patient.
I look at Jay and we both are thinking the same thing.
- It's sad that the medical profession is too willing to treat the symptom instead of finding the problem.
- This place is an addict's dream! Come in with chest pains and have the tests come up clear and they will whip out the narcotics like a free day with the Oompa Loompas!
We shake our heads as the sweet nurse reads us my discharge orders and know that I will be talking to my real doctor within 48 hours.
As we fall into bed at 2:30am, we are exhausted and happy. Had we been addicts, we would have been chillaxin' at a 24 hour Walgreens getting our funk on and NOT about to be sleeping, pain or no pain...
As it was, we are apparently "purist squares" who are unnaturally willing to waste "good drugs".
Oh well.
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