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She was even pronounced
dead by a startled stranger
By PATRICIA J. GEISTER
of TheColumnists.com
As Snoopy might
tap out on his typewriter, "It was a dark and stormy night."
Boy, was it ever! Western Washington State's winter rainy season
record is 33 consecutive days of rotten weather, soon to be broken
sometime this month. Not the kind of night I wanted to have a
health scare and end up in a hospital emergency room, but I did.
Two weeks ago I finished paying off all
the hospital bills, doctor bills, ambulance trips, medical tests,
visiting nurses and physical therapists. That was a finality
for the past two years of living with my late husband's cancer
and my stroke. Free! Free of debt! I felt so good!
Now, on a Sunday night, my body and brain were strongly advising
me to get professional help and find out if I was having stroke
symptoms, or was it a blood pressure spike? Either way, I was
dizzy and getting dizzier by the minute.
"Knock off the guessing and dial 911," I muttered.
So, I did. The emergency crew showed up armed with all kinds
of equipment to check me out. In a short time they pronounced
me fit to be transported to the ER.
"Ma':m, your BP is bouncing around," they told me.
"You need oxygen to even out your breathing. We don't see
an immediate serious incident in the making, but let a doctor
confirm that. You must know it's not a good idea to stay here
second guessing yourself. Come on, let us help you stand up so
we can secure you onto this stretcher."
Off we went to the ER. Before a blanket could be draped over
me, I got wet and cold, all ready to run up another set of medical
bills. As it turned out, I wasn't having a stroke, nor was I
in immediate danger. Great news! No problem! Well, if a nurse
hadn't caught me and a handsome, young doctor in what appeared
to be an embrace, and if a total stranger hadn't pronounced me
dead, all of it wouldn't have been more than a damned expensive
unnecessary case of nerves on my part.
Yes, that's what I said: A total stranger, not a medical type,
pronounced me dead. At the top of her lungs, too.
If ever you've been an ER patient, or if you've taken a patient
to an ER, you know the drill. The nurses get you hooked up to
machines that beep or pulsate. Your vitals are recorded for a
doctor's benefit, which are duplicated upon the doctor's arrival
at your side. They have a routine set of examinations, thumping,
questions, all used to determine your problem, if any. After
that, someone from admitting comes in to take down the name of
your insurance company--Ever notice how they want that before
they ask your name and address?--and your own doctor's name (which
you almost always have to spell for them).
Should you be vague, have an open, bleeding wound, broken bones,
or you're obviously pregnant and in labor, your waiting time
to see an ER doctor might not be as long as usual. A heart attack
is top priority, as it should be. But, like me, being dizzy and
able to answer questions, prepare to wait a matter of hours before
you are "seen."
A very pleasant young resident and an older full-fledged doctor
had that night's duty. Dr. "Young" asked for my symptoms,
thumped and poked me, had me look this way and that, finally
told me he needed to have me stand up and take a few steps.
I had to have his help in getting upright. He told me, "Slowly,
now. Can you take a few steps toward me? Okay, that's it."
My dizziness got the best of me and I began falling forward.
He rushed to my rescue, we grabbed each other and hung on. "You're
doing fine. Hold on and we'll try it again."
And a nurse walked in. I had leaned into his shoulder for support.
My head and face rested on him, and his arms were loosely around
me. Naturally, to her it looked like he was embracing me and
I was hiding my face on him; maybe in tears.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" she said in surprise, whirled around
and bolted out the door. What I didn't know was that she had
heard somebody calling her name and she needed to rush to their
aid.
The older doctor was in the doorway now. "Doctor, is everything
all right?" My doctor explained that I had nearly fallen
and he had steadied me. Back to the exam table for me, where
I waited again for 30 minutes for anyone else to come in.
"Sorry about that, Mrs. Geister. Now, just a few more questions."
After I gave more answers, I was alone.
I was in a small, private exam room right next to the big, double
door ambulance entryway. Every time the door was opened I got
a blast of very cold air. The ER itself was cold. I was fully
dressed, but I needed to be warm. I'd been covered with the standard
ER coarsely woven sheet they passed off as a blanket. In fact,
I had two of them. There were three bright flourescent overhead
lights that made my headache feel even worse. The door was open,
and I needed it closed to avoid the blasts of cold air. A nurse
had pulled the privacy curtain around my exam table and shut
the door. My eyes, even closed, couldn't block out that painful
bright light. The light switch was too far away from me to take
the risk of using it. Besides, it needed to be left on.
I had wrapped one blanket around my lower half. The upper one
was tucked around me. It was nearly 2 a.m., I was exhausted,
cold, and I couldn't stand the light. I closed my eyes and dropped
off to sleep. Somehow I had decided the answer was to pull the
other blanket up far enough to block out the light. I was drowsy
and didn't know it covered my head.
My shallow sleep suddenly was shattered with screams. "Oh,
Lord! There's a dead person in there! I see a dead body!"
More screams.
Nurses came running. In my shock and surprise, I involuntarily
bolted up, the sheet fell away from my face, and I fell off the
narrow table onto the floor. I wasn't hurt, just confused and
more than a little irritated by the screaming woman. One nurse
was trying to calm her down and another one was tending to me.
The stranger who screamed at my door had brought in another patient.
All the ER's exam areas and private rooms look alike if the privacy
curtain blocks sight of the patient. She had left her person's
room, couldn't remember the number on the door, had opened my
door, pulled aside the curtain and saw a sheet-covered body.
That read "dead" to her. Both she and her person had
bad cases of flu, accompanied by nausea and vomiting. Her rescuing
nurse got her into my room and to the sink in that corner. What
a sight. I was slowly struggling to get up, she was barfing into
the sink, retching like it started below her toes and then rocketed
upward.
That's when my doctor showed up. After nearly another two hours
I was given my release papers and taken to the waiting room,
where I called a cab and went home. I walked in my back door
at 3:45 a.m., a mere four hours from start to finish. That's
a short time in an ER.
Today I had a happy ending to all this excitement. My own doctor,
bless her, called me to say probably all I need is an adjustment
of the dosages of some of my medicines.
"You're fine; no problems. I want you to see me next week
and I'll do some lab tests and get some answers Now, until then,
I want you to get lots of sleep and rest, stay out of the cold
and rain, and stay as calm as you can." (Yes, doctor, that's
what I want, too.) "Don't worry. These things do happen,
you know." (Right, but why do they keep happening to me?)
Oh, well. Maybe my duty in life is to keep the local economy
on its feet. Ya think?
©2006 by Patricia
J. Geister. The illustration is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection,
1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This
column first posted
on Jan. 16, 2006.
You
can comment on this column online. Please address your message
to either "The Editors" or Patricia J. Geister. To
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