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grrgoylSunday afternoon Tery and I were having a fine time watching the Twilight edition of Rifftrax. I was LMFAO and feeling smug because the guys were mocking all the things I found mockworthy about the movie, and eating some delicious Christmas cookies our new neighbor downstairs made us.
Suddenly I felt a pain in the middle of my chest, a squeezing sort of pressure pain. Over the next 15 minutes or so it grew to such intensity that I broke out in a sweat and became nauseous. Lying down flat made it worse; taking deep slow breaths made it better. Tery ate a cookie as well to see if they were poisoned. That there is true love, folks.
Tery was understandably a bit concerned, as was I; after all, 32-year-old Brittany Murphy had died just that morning of a heart attack, or so they said. As an elderly 40-year-old, I couldn't afford to shrug this off.
But that's just what I did at first. We finished the movie (laughing considerably less) and I fell into a deep sleep (I had been sleepy all day after working overnight, so this in itself wasn't unusual). When I woke the pain seemed on the verge of returning, now as a dull but undeniably present ache over that same spot in the middle of my chest. My sister the nurse thought I should get it checked out (although as an Oncology nurse, the extent of her helpfulness was the comment "It probably isn't cancer"), as did Tery. Ever the obstinate one, I insisted on starting my transcription shift at 8 p.m. to see how it went.
My bravado lasted for all of 30 minutes before I had to admit that it just wasn't going away and, lack of insurance or no, I'd better get my ass to a doctor.
Since Tery still is without a license, MyFriendDeb very generously and unhesitatingly agreed to drive us to the Urgent Care. They saw me immediately (they take chest pain a bit more seriously than the silly H1N1 virus). I had an EKG that came back mildly abnormal, "mildly" but apparently concerning enough to summon paramedics to transfer me to the emergency room.
This all had me quietly freaking out, mostly because as I said I have no insurance and ambulance rides, never mind ER visits, aren't cheap. But this all seemed to be decided in a matter of seconds, and I certainly didn't want to argue with the doctor.
The ambulance ride was terribly exciting: I had three medics working on me, placing an IV, sticking oxygen tubes in my nose (just like the soap opera characters that end up hospitalized for weeks wearing the damn things), and generally bustling about to attend to me. One of them asked if I had clothes when I came in (I had to change into a too-small blousy shirt thing for the EKG); never too ill for sarcasm, I quipped, "No, I always keep a hospital gown on-hand to wear to emergencies like these." They all laughed. They also couldn't believe all the scratches on my arms from my lion-taming career.
They brought me to the ER a block and a half away, a ride that will probably cost me $2,000. They wheeled me into an exam room and hoisted me onto a gurney (the hoisting was the most thrilling part. Those guys are pretty damn strong).
The doctor was kind of a pill. He interviewed me and informed me from what he could tell, my only risk factor for cardiac problems was being alive. "Oh. Not much I can do about that," I joked. Crickets, I tell you. Don't ask me why I was trying so hard to entertain the doctor, when it seemed to me he should have been the one trying to put me at ease. He asked what I had been doing at the time of the pain (Tery had warned me "Don't say we were watching Twilight. That will end up in your medical report somewhere"), whether I was sitting there "quietly fuming" about something. Tery could have told him my style runs more toward "brutally blunt outbursts." I never "quietly fume" about anything.
He said he wanted me to stay overnight for observation and a stress test in the morning. I wasn't thrilled with this plan, and thought this might be a good time to mention the no insurance thing. He said my other option was to see a cardiologist as an outpatient which would cost even more. Guess I was stuck there for the night.
They took me for a chest x-ray, stopping for a urine sample on the way back. The nurse had given me this tiny little cup to collect it. Being a girl, aiming my pee isn't the easiest task, so when I noticed a small stack of pink boxes that looked like miniature cat litter pans, I assumed they were there to provide an easier target. I peed into it and poured it into the cup (which is how we obtain urine samples at the vet's). Only then did I look up and see the very detailed instructions on the wall, and no mention of using the litter pan. Oops. I explained my error to the nurse and asked if it would affect any tests they wanted. "I have no idea. Guess we'll find out," she said flatly. A more humorless bunch you're not likely to find anywhere.
It turns out they did nothing with the urine, although my primary nurse (a nice guy who talked about his dogs when he found out I work at a vet's) did chastise me a bit stridently about the dark color of it, indicating dehydration. "Your cardiac markers came back fine, but THIS" he used a folded-up piece of paper to shove the cup distastefully towards me on the counter, "is RIDICULOUS." As if I deliberately dehydrated myself just to piss him off. He then proceeded to beat me about the face and chest, because I don't have insurance so they can do anything they want to me (no, not really).
Then I was left alone for a very long time. Thankfully Tery had changed my TV channel to Adult Swim from some sports channel, but that was about my only comfort. One arm had a blood pressure cuff that automatically went off every 10 minutes, but not the sort of feels kind of good when a human pumps it up to just a little over what's comfortable, this was a machine pumping it up a good deal beyond comfortable, to almost unbearable. The other arm had an IV needle in (not hooked to fluids at least, my grumpy nurse had just given me a bottle of water to drink instead. A bottle of water that will cost me $15) that I was acutely aware of being embedded in my flesh no matter what position I put my arm in. On top of all this, the gurney was none too soft and my ass went totally numb, until they took me for an ultrasound and I was laid flat, which was better.
Thank god for Adult Swim. First was "The Mighty Boosh" that I had no idea they played, then the "Family Guy" spoof of Star Wars that was actually pretty hilarious, the "Robot Chicken" spoof of same that was even funnier, then "The Venture Bros.", which felt like an old friend coming to visit me in the hospital.
I dozed fitfully, partly because I was positioned right in front of the highly trafficked reception area, partly because I was afraid if I fell completely asleep they'd have important news but would hesitate to wake me because I looked like a little angel.
Finally at 2 a.m. the jerk of a doctor reappeared. The good news was my heart looked "great." The bad news was he suspected gallstones, very large gallstones. He referred me to an internist to see if I need surgery and a low-income clinic and sent me on my way. I can't tell you how badly I wanted to get out of there. Between his diagnosis and someone coming to unhook me from the machines, the asshole blood pressure cuff got one last squeeze in.
Not the most pleasant of experiences, but I did find it kind of fascinating to see my transcription career from the other side. Maybe when my medical bills bankrupt me I can be held up as an example of the failure of the current health care system to help Barack get his bill passed, so something good comes of my tragedy.
I called a taxi since neither Tery nor Deb were an option, and got a driver who freely shared with me his feelings about pulling all our troops out of the Middle East completely, let those fuckers solve their own problems, we don't need their oil because we've got Alaska, etc. He seemed blissfully unaware of how much his own career depends on oil. I just wanted to get the hell home so pretended to enthusiastically agree with him.
So, change of diet for me. Basically anything I enjoy eating is bad for me. I'm somewhat encouraged that my mom said she had her gallbladder removed at my age and she still ate whatever she wanted except sausages. I hate sausages so that will work out well.
Ah, if it isn't my old nemesis, Mr. Fluid Pump
Suddenly I felt a pain in the middle of my chest, a squeezing sort of pressure pain. Over the next 15 minutes or so it grew to such intensity that I broke out in a sweat and became nauseous. Lying down flat made it worse; taking deep slow breaths made it better. Tery ate a cookie as well to see if they were poisoned. That there is true love, folks.
Tery was understandably a bit concerned, as was I; after all, 32-year-old Brittany Murphy had died just that morning of a heart attack, or so they said. As an elderly 40-year-old, I couldn't afford to shrug this off.
But that's just what I did at first. We finished the movie (laughing considerably less) and I fell into a deep sleep (I had been sleepy all day after working overnight, so this in itself wasn't unusual). When I woke the pain seemed on the verge of returning, now as a dull but undeniably present ache over that same spot in the middle of my chest. My sister the nurse thought I should get it checked out (although as an Oncology nurse, the extent of her helpfulness was the comment "It probably isn't cancer"), as did Tery. Ever the obstinate one, I insisted on starting my transcription shift at 8 p.m. to see how it went.
My bravado lasted for all of 30 minutes before I had to admit that it just wasn't going away and, lack of insurance or no, I'd better get my ass to a doctor.
Since Tery still is without a license, MyFriendDeb very generously and unhesitatingly agreed to drive us to the Urgent Care. They saw me immediately (they take chest pain a bit more seriously than the silly H1N1 virus). I had an EKG that came back mildly abnormal, "mildly" but apparently concerning enough to summon paramedics to transfer me to the emergency room.
This all had me quietly freaking out, mostly because as I said I have no insurance and ambulance rides, never mind ER visits, aren't cheap. But this all seemed to be decided in a matter of seconds, and I certainly didn't want to argue with the doctor.
The ambulance ride was terribly exciting: I had three medics working on me, placing an IV, sticking oxygen tubes in my nose (just like the soap opera characters that end up hospitalized for weeks wearing the damn things), and generally bustling about to attend to me. One of them asked if I had clothes when I came in (I had to change into a too-small blousy shirt thing for the EKG); never too ill for sarcasm, I quipped, "No, I always keep a hospital gown on-hand to wear to emergencies like these." They all laughed. They also couldn't believe all the scratches on my arms from my lion-taming career.
They brought me to the ER a block and a half away, a ride that will probably cost me $2,000. They wheeled me into an exam room and hoisted me onto a gurney (the hoisting was the most thrilling part. Those guys are pretty damn strong).
The doctor was kind of a pill. He interviewed me and informed me from what he could tell, my only risk factor for cardiac problems was being alive. "Oh. Not much I can do about that," I joked. Crickets, I tell you. Don't ask me why I was trying so hard to entertain the doctor, when it seemed to me he should have been the one trying to put me at ease. He asked what I had been doing at the time of the pain (Tery had warned me "Don't say we were watching Twilight. That will end up in your medical report somewhere"), whether I was sitting there "quietly fuming" about something. Tery could have told him my style runs more toward "brutally blunt outbursts." I never "quietly fume" about anything.
He said he wanted me to stay overnight for observation and a stress test in the morning. I wasn't thrilled with this plan, and thought this might be a good time to mention the no insurance thing. He said my other option was to see a cardiologist as an outpatient which would cost even more. Guess I was stuck there for the night.
They took me for a chest x-ray, stopping for a urine sample on the way back. The nurse had given me this tiny little cup to collect it. Being a girl, aiming my pee isn't the easiest task, so when I noticed a small stack of pink boxes that looked like miniature cat litter pans, I assumed they were there to provide an easier target. I peed into it and poured it into the cup (which is how we obtain urine samples at the vet's). Only then did I look up and see the very detailed instructions on the wall, and no mention of using the litter pan. Oops. I explained my error to the nurse and asked if it would affect any tests they wanted. "I have no idea. Guess we'll find out," she said flatly. A more humorless bunch you're not likely to find anywhere.
It turns out they did nothing with the urine, although my primary nurse (a nice guy who talked about his dogs when he found out I work at a vet's) did chastise me a bit stridently about the dark color of it, indicating dehydration. "Your cardiac markers came back fine, but THIS" he used a folded-up piece of paper to shove the cup distastefully towards me on the counter, "is RIDICULOUS." As if I deliberately dehydrated myself just to piss him off. He then proceeded to beat me about the face and chest, because I don't have insurance so they can do anything they want to me (no, not really).
Then I was left alone for a very long time. Thankfully Tery had changed my TV channel to Adult Swim from some sports channel, but that was about my only comfort. One arm had a blood pressure cuff that automatically went off every 10 minutes, but not the sort of feels kind of good when a human pumps it up to just a little over what's comfortable, this was a machine pumping it up a good deal beyond comfortable, to almost unbearable. The other arm had an IV needle in (not hooked to fluids at least, my grumpy nurse had just given me a bottle of water to drink instead. A bottle of water that will cost me $15) that I was acutely aware of being embedded in my flesh no matter what position I put my arm in. On top of all this, the gurney was none too soft and my ass went totally numb, until they took me for an ultrasound and I was laid flat, which was better.
Thank god for Adult Swim. First was "The Mighty Boosh" that I had no idea they played, then the "Family Guy" spoof of Star Wars that was actually pretty hilarious, the "Robot Chicken" spoof of same that was even funnier, then "The Venture Bros.", which felt like an old friend coming to visit me in the hospital.
I dozed fitfully, partly because I was positioned right in front of the highly trafficked reception area, partly because I was afraid if I fell completely asleep they'd have important news but would hesitate to wake me because I looked like a little angel.
Finally at 2 a.m. the jerk of a doctor reappeared. The good news was my heart looked "great." The bad news was he suspected gallstones, very large gallstones. He referred me to an internist to see if I need surgery and a low-income clinic and sent me on my way. I can't tell you how badly I wanted to get out of there. Between his diagnosis and someone coming to unhook me from the machines, the asshole blood pressure cuff got one last squeeze in.
Not the most pleasant of experiences, but I did find it kind of fascinating to see my transcription career from the other side. Maybe when my medical bills bankrupt me I can be held up as an example of the failure of the current health care system to help Barack get his bill passed, so something good comes of my tragedy.
I called a taxi since neither Tery nor Deb were an option, and got a driver who freely shared with me his feelings about pulling all our troops out of the Middle East completely, let those fuckers solve their own problems, we don't need their oil because we've got Alaska, etc. He seemed blissfully unaware of how much his own career depends on oil. I just wanted to get the hell home so pretended to enthusiastically agree with him.
So, change of diet for me. Basically anything I enjoy eating is bad for me. I'm somewhat encouraged that my mom said she had her gallbladder removed at my age and she still ate whatever she wanted except sausages. I hate sausages so that will work out well.
Ah, if it isn't my old nemesis, Mr. Fluid Pump
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What an adventure! Even more interesting than pr0n.
Date: 2009-12-22 08:05 pm (UTC)You're cute when you're sickly. Love the quips.
And silly. Srsly, you used a pan to funnel in your pee? Really?
Confession time: I check the color of my pee to be sure I've had enough water of a day. I've noticed I have more headaches when I haven't. Is this weird?
In that picture, I can just see you calculating the price of that sub-par water bottle!
Re: What an adventure! Even more interesting than pr0n.
Date: 2009-12-22 08:35 pm (UTC)This is what I get for commenting at work.
Date: 2009-12-23 03:18 pm (UTC)That's funny! Also, I love every bit of Stewie and the Storm Troopers (I almost wrote Death Eaters!). The part where the two random minions are talking about the lack of railing above the bottomless pit is lol. Do you intend to see the second one? When you're in less pain.
Re: This is what I get for commenting at work.
Date: 2009-12-23 05:22 pm (UTC)Is there a second one? I thought as I watched this one it might even be worthy of a DVD purchase. THAT was the delirium talking. If I could have the FG and the Robot Chicken in a tasteful boxed set we might have a deal.
Re: This is what I get for commenting at work.
Date: 2010-01-04 03:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-22 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 05:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-22 09:42 pm (UTC)Mmmm....hoisting.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 05:28 pm (UTC)Yes, it was spectacular. I started to sort of inch over onto the gurney and one of them said, "Just relax, we'll do everything." And they did!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 05:43 am (UTC)Speaking of pregnancy, it also taught me dehydration can cause all kinds of wacky symptoms. I wouldn't be surprised if it exacerbated your problem.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 05:35 pm (UTC)Very probably. I've upped my water intake and downed my milk intake to attack it from both ends.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 07:40 pm (UTC)I'm sure Tery will be relived. ;)
no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 12:18 pm (UTC)Bleh, I hate when people in doctor's offices take themselves too seriously. I don't know if they're already like that or if they've just had their spirits crushed, but I have lots of memories of the people who collect samples being humorless assholes at my old pediatrician's office. As if being in that situation isn't awkward enough!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 06:22 pm (UTC)I know. You'd think they'd be so used to seeing people moaning and complaining about every little thing that someone cracking jokes would be a breath of fresh air!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 06:24 pm (UTC)I think Jane will be getting pregnant before I will.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 08:09 pm (UTC)And for all the free health care haters, I'd just like to point out that your whole ordeal would have been free over here in the good of UK of K. Our doctors are slightly more humour-friendly too, which is an additional benefit!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 10:10 pm (UTC)United Kingdom of Kazakhstan? Your abbreviations confuse me.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 07:47 pm (UTC)No, it was just a lazy pun on the "US of A" thing.