An Argument for Advocacy

This is the story of the day I went to the emergency room by myself.

I'd been feeling weird for a few days, and finally the symptoms became much more noticeable, so I broke down and called my doctor. He, of course, was out of town, but when his nurse heard my symptoms, she told me I should go to the ER. At first I thought, "No way," but after a while I started feeling like it was probably the right thing to do. But since I didn't know what was wrong, I didn't want to tell anyone, because I figured it was probably nothing and didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

So, in an uncharacteristically brave manner, I walked into the ER and told them what was wrong. They whisked me right back and did all the normal check-in things and got me into a room, where they hooked up the oxygen and heart monitor. Shortly after that, a guy came in and announced that he was there to take some of my blood. (He was not a vampire.) This was moment #1 when I wished I had someone there with me. The last few times I've had blood taken, there's always been someone there to hold my hand, because I'm always scared, and it always hurts. This time I had no one, so I just held on tight to my ever-faithful Harry Potter book. Shortly after that, a different person came in and told me she was there to take blood from my artery. I've had this done once before, and it HURT. I really, really wished I had someone there to hold my hand then. But I didn't, and it hurt, and I cried. All by myself.

Moment #3 came after all the tests were done, and I was left to sit and wait for the results. The door was wide open, and the TV was positioned in a fashion such that I could not see it or reach it. Had I had a companion there with me, he or she could've shut my door so people would stop looking in at me when they walked by, and he or she could've adjusted the TV so I could watch it, rather than sit there looking at my fingernails. Finally, I got up and did both things myself, which wasn't awful, but still. It would've been nice to not have to negotiate through all the wires and tubes.

Moment #4 was the most disturbing of them all. As mentioned at the beginning of this story, I was hooked up to an oxygen and heart monitor. Every now and then, it would beep a little more rapidly and turn yellow as if to say, "Hey, your oxygen is dropping. Are you okay?" It would go back to normal after a few seconds, so it wasn't that big of a deal. However, at one point, while I was sitting there minding my own business, the machine started emitting this piercing shriek, accompanied by a red light, as if to say, "THIS PATIENT IS DEAD!" I was a little alarmed to discover my machine thought I was dead, because as far as I could tell, I wasn't. I looked down at the device on my finger and tried to adjust it a litttle, but my machine was convinced of my demise.

I just sat there wondering what I should do about this, when it struck me--what if I really were dying? If my antsy little friend were correct, and my heart really had stopped beating, where were all the doctors and nurses who are supposed to rush in and make it start beating again?? No one came in; no one paid any attention to the fact that I was departing from this life (at least, according to the machine). Finally, a couple of minutes later, my nurse poked her head in, probably to see if the coroner had arrived yet. When she saw that I was, in fact, still alive, she shook her head a little and pushed a button to make the machine stop beeping.

My friends, this was quite disturbing to me, and because of it, I plead with you to promise to never go to the hospital for anything without an advocate. Whether it's to get you a drink of water, scratch behind your left ankle, or run and get a nurse to tell them you've stopped breathing, you need someone there with you.

Also, if I'd had someone there with me, maybe they could've reminded the nurse to pull off the heart monitor sticky thingies so I didn't find them still adhered to my chest and side when I woke up the next morning at home in my own bed.