One Does Not Simply Walk into Mordor

I had a really great night at home.  Although I tried to sleep in my bed, I could not, but had really hard sleep in the sofa recliner.  I awoke to the glorious scent of real coffee brewing (not de-caff!)  How wonderful it was to go down my own hall to the bathroom, sit in my own sofa and reach for my own computer.  We’ve rigged up a table next to the sofa for the computer, and then a bed tray to put over my lap to keep the laptop off my knee.  I was able to hug my puppy and give her a good rub-down, until she decided that my ice machine was just too tempting not to be tasted.  That’s why we have the portable fence – invalid on the inside, puppies on the outside.  All in all, a stellar first morning until . . .

I was sipping my coffee, surfing through mounds of email etc., and waiting for time for breakfast when that same awful feeling came over me.  The dizziness, cold sweat, trembling hands – only this time I had not taken a pain pill since about 2 a.m., and was waiting to eat until I took one.  I remembered what the Dr. said, and hastily googled heart attack symptoms in women.  Good night, I had three of six!  Reluctantly, I told Jeff we needed to go to the ER.  Just for drill, because I had wondered if my “incident” yesterday was a low blood sugar, we decide to test it with Jeff’s glucometer.  I have a 70.  I know that my fasting blood glucose is usually in the mid-eighties.  We decided to go to the ER here in Homewood rather than risk a 70 mile drive.  I wish we had driven the 70 miles.

Anyway, we stowed the puppy in her crate and took off to the ER.  Jeff went inside and told the security guard who came out with a wheelchair.  I’m still very shaky and understandably scared.  He wheels me up to the clerk, and I try to tell him that I’m six day post-op total knee replacement with symptoms of a heart attack.  I say try, because a custodian was loudly vacuuming the rug right next to me, and I could barely hear what I was saying much less the clerk. Turning off the vacuum when a patient comes in should be standard protocol, one would think.

I do get taken into triage right away where they ask the usual questions, and I tell them about the Dr. at the Navy Hospital which is mainly why I’m here.  I also tell them about the 70 blood glucose taken at home, but they are not impressed.  They think  a 70 will not have any of the symptoms as I described.  I’m wheeled into a room with another doorknob bed, covered with electrodes and stabbed with knives.  Seriously, they got right to running the EKG, setting up the most uncomfortable IV I’ve ever had, and taking blood.  Then I sit.  And I sit. And I sit.  Occasionally the blood pressure cuff goes off, but other than the occasional blip of the screen.  Nothing happens.

I ask for something to elevate my leg, and am given a pathetic thin pillow.  I’ve had no pain meds since 2 a.m., and I have no ice.  One of the nurse technicians seems anxious to help and tells us they’re still backed up from yesterday when it was a seven hour wait.  I have a very dry mouth and haven’t eaten since a milk and cookie snack the night before.  She brings me some apple juice and graham crackers which I gratefully eat. 

I checked in at 7:40 a.m.  Around 10 a.m., a lady who identifies herself as the nurse tells me the Dr. will be in as soon as he can.  I understand the problem with ER's,  and ask about some pain medication.  She brings me back some Norco.  I can only assume that since nothing has been done to me since the original triage, that the EKG didn’t show anything. I'm obviously on the low end of the totem pole for care.  In fact, the longer I lie there, the more I begin to believe that it was a low blood sugar event even though I don’t have diabetes.  I have felt much better since the juice and graham cracker.

Around 11:30 a.m., the Dr. comes in.  He seems really nice, asks the usual questions and in response to mine says that the EKG was normal, but they want to run an enzyme check and a urine test just to make sure everything’s OK.  I know this is standard procedure, so nod my head, and he leaves. 

Now it begins to get strange.  Nothing happens.  No one comes in to take more blood.  No one asks me if I can do a urine sample.  Nothing.  Jeff goes home to take care of the puppy and himself since he has had no breakfast.  The nurse come in when the monitor goes off for some reason, and I ask her about the tests and she says something to the effect that” if people didn’t come into the ER when it wasn’t an emergency, they wouldn’t have this back –up.”  I thought this was pretty inappropriate since I had been told to go to the ER and said as much.  This also did not answer my question about the ensuing tests.  She did, upon prompting, get me some more pillows and some ice for my knee. 
I continue to wait.  Hours pass.  The nurse technician feels sorry for how uncomfortable I am, and changes the doorknob bed for another in better shape.  It does feel a lot better.  I have the urge to go to the bathroom and knowing that the Dr. was going to order a urine sample, mention that that could be taken before I evacuate my bladder completely.  This does get me a specimen bottle which I fill and turn in.  I go back to the room and wait.

During this time, I do get in touch with my primary care Dr’s nurse, and explain all that is going on.  I’ll tell her I think it’s just a low blood sugar event, and she agrees that a 70 would give me all those symptoms. 

Sometime around 3 p.m., I think, the nurse technician come in to take my blood.  I’ve only had a couple of juice packets and I tell her good luck on finding a vein.  She digs around in my arm, I see the single vial that she has filled, and then she leaves.  I never see her again. At some point, the Dr. comes in and apologizes for the wait but says there is some confusion in the lab about the second enzyme test, but that he hopes it is cleared up, and I’ll be leaving soon.  This is the first I’ve heard about a second enzyme test.

Sometime after that, the nurse comes in with all the blood paraphernalia to take my blood again.  She says someone lost the second blood sample.  I show her on my arm where it was taken.  She takes about three vials of blood.  She also responds to my dehydration and hunger by bringing me a turkey sandwich and some more juice.  My husband asks her how long this might take.  She says it’s about a 20 minute test.

We wait forty minutes.  Still nothing.  My husband goes out to ask about the test.  Someone flippantly tells him there’s no such thing as a 20 minute blood test.  Every time anyone comes close we ask how long, what’s happening etc.  We are given no answers, no explanations.

Finally sometime after 5 p.m., a new nurse comes in and brusquely begins to explain about how long all the tests take and why I needed them etc.  It seems that the second enzyme test has to be done several hours apart.  I’ve already been here over nine hours; I tell her I just want out of there.  The Dr. said negative on the heart tests, and I just want to go home.  She is much more informative that almost anyone has been all day, but treats me as if I’m the whiney butt who has to be tolerated while they’re saving my life.  It’s pretty obvious that she’s the closer who’s trying salvage a very poorly done job. 

Suddenly, blood tests are done (BTW, 2^nd enzyme test completed at 4:20 p.m. – it is now 5:40 p.m.) paper work appears, and ONLY ten hours after I originally checked in, I’m out of there.

I felt like I had escaped prison.  It was the most horrible day of my life.  If the Navy Dr. hadn’t been so insistent the day before, I probably would have just gotten a glass of orange juice at home and felt better.  At least I know where NOT to go in an emergency situation in the future.