So, as I already said on FB and via emails, yesterday morning I hobbled off to work. People asked why I’d come in and honestly, my
only response was, “well, I come in if I have a headache--this is just pain
somewhere else. I’m here because that’s what I do on Monday mornings -- come
here!!” It was strongly suggested I go
to the doctor before any powers that be decided to =send= me. There’s a clinic associated with Columbia
Presbyterian a half block away on 51st St, but they couldn’t see me
until the next day, so I got in a cab and went over to St. Luke’s-Roosevelt
Hospital near Columbus Circle.
I filled out a little card and told the triage nurse what
was going on. I was really nervous and
didn’t want to be there and was trying not to cry. I had in the back of my head how my
temping-friend Cathy went to the doctor for a cough in November and turned out
to have stage 4 breast cancer and was dead before Christmas. I haven’t seen a doctor in ages (haven’t
really needed to!) and this was the first I’ve had to be in the ER for myself
in almost 19 years. I was considerably
nervous and my blood pressure showed it, but she didn’t say anything and later when they took it again, it was well within normal. She asked me
how bad the pain was and I said, “what, on a scale of 1-10?” Yes. “14.” She started to put her hands on the computer keyboard to enter my response,
then =looked= at me and laughed. I said,
“honestly—It’s way off the charts of any other pain I’ve felt before” and was
trying not to cry. She nodded, said
they’d fix me up and gave me some papers and my wristbands and told me to
follow the yellow line on the floor to another nurse’s station. I said,
“wait—don’t you need my insurance card??”
“No, not yet.” (Me… damn!! My memory of ERs is that this is the first
thing they usually want!) So I stood up
and this was the only time of the entire day that I thought, “I can barely
walk…why don’t they put me in a wheelchair?!” but I hobbled off. (And when I say that, I mean I was really limping and sort of lurching to
the left…)
I got almost all the way there and had to stop and lean
against a desk—several times throughout the day the pain was
blinding-and-making-me-dizzy-bad (an episode of this while I was still at work is what made me decide
that perhaps everyone else was right and maybe I =ought= see a dr.) and a nice man in
scrubs saw me and had me sit and took my papers to the nurse I was to give them
to, and then they put me in a room. I
have to say right up front, everyone I encountered yesterday was really =nice=
and friendly. Or at least they acted that way in front of me.
I sat there, and then
decided that lying down was preferable (there was no comfortable position), and
then a young woman came in. She
introduced herself and told me she was a 4th year medical
student. She asked me a bunch of
questions and I told her about the grapefruit-sized ovarian cyst I had in 1994
and that I thought I’d pulled a groin muscle while gardening in 2009, but had
never seen anyone for it—just laid low for a couple of days, and those were the
only things I had ever felt comparable pain to.
She had me walk for her and I showed her what I could do (hobble) and
couldn’t do (turn around or walk backwards), and she went off to tell her
attending dr. all this. I lay there a
bit, then pulled out my iPod to play Bejeweled butterflies to try to distract
myself. It was only then that someone
came for my insurance info. (Which at
this point was on the other side of the room, LOL, so I had to get up and get
it…)
After a bit, the 4th year came back, looking a
tiny bit embarrassed and told me that she’d forgotten to actually =look= at the
site of the pain or otherwise physically look at me. I laughed and said, “Oops!” Some of my memory of yesterday is a skootch
fuzzy, but at some point she told me I have a great sense of humour and it
might have been this point. Shortly
after, Nurse “K” came in to help me get out of my pants and top and get into a
gown and to take all my vitals, and the doctor came in and I told him everything all over again and tried
to explain the pain, that it was mostly in the front and sometimes in the back
and when I first lay down on the gurney, it felt like someone had driven a
lance through me. He nodded, examined me, asked me more questions, and told me
about the various tests they were going to do and all the things it =could=
be. He said they were going to give me a
Percocet and a Tylenol and first they were going to do a sonogram. (Somewhere along in here, I decided I better
let my family know, so called them, and then posted on FB.)
So they wheeled me to another room to do a sonogram, and the
doctor and the 4th year came in. I had a little trouble getting my feet in the
stirrups (they wanted to view my ovaries from the inside as well as from the
outside), because it hurt SO much to move my leg to the side like that and the
doctor said, "They didn’t give you the pain meds yet?" “Um, no… “
He frowned, but we went ahead with the exam. I couldn’t see the screen,
but he was pointing things out to the 4th year, and was frankly sort
of jabbing the sonogram’s probe sideways to my left side. I winced and inhaled sharply, especially when
I thought he was trying to reach my hip bones with it (and was trying to quell
thoughts that I had a cyst or cancer or something awful), and he apologized if
it was hurting me, but they were trying to get a good look. I opened my mouth to start to say, “Well,
things aren’t supposed to be going SIDEWAYS in there…” and then I thought, “Omg, I can’t say that to
him!!!” so said, “Mmm-hmm….” and started laughing. I put my hands over my face and was trying not
to shake with laughter because by this point it all seemed so completely
absurd. (I can’t help but wonder what
they went home and told their loved ones about the weird lady who was shaking
with laughter and pain during a vaginal ultrasound…)
They finished and left and the nurse came back in to draw
some blood and put in an iv line (the dr. had changed his mind about the
Percocet/Tylenol combo and wanted to give me some morphine). I sort of lost my laughter at this point—fear
of needles, etc. I vaguely remember
saying that I probably would have worn plain socks instead of my kissing polar
bear socks if I’d thought it was the only thing of mine that I’d end up keeping
on all day!! She was swabbing my arm and
I was trying to remain chatty but was aware that I wasn’t actually saying anything and I
vaguely remember thinking I should probably say that I felt like I was going to
hyperventilate, but then I was really =hot=, and said so. She said, “oh, that’s the vaso-vago—that
often happens when you pass out.” That
didn’t really register as I was trying to get my hair off my sweaty neck, and
then I had a, “wait…I wasn’t lying down…” moment and what she said registered
and I said, “Wait—what?!? I passed
out?!?!” I started laughing and
apologized. She said not to worry—she
had caught me and laid me back and finished the blood draw and I was only out a
moment or two, and then I had snored a couple of times. I started really laughing at that point and
she said, “See? I knew you’d be ok…”
She took me back to my little ER room, and they wanted to
send me up to the official sonogram dept. as the ER doctor wasn’t getting great
views of anything, apparently. And I had
to start drinking this yucky stuff that tasted like plastic (o-something),
because if the sonogram didn’t show anything, they wanted to do a catscan, and
this stuff would help various parts of my body glow on a catscan. (I =really=
wanted to see that, but they didn’t share the pix with me…dammit—I think if
they’re going to make my body parts glow then I should get to see it…) She gave me the morphine iv and FINALLY the
pain stopped for a bit. (Honestly? I
don’t understand any fuss anyone makes about this drug…Yes, it stopped the pain
and that was wonderful, but it only lasts about an hour and a half!!! I was sort of wanting whatever they put in
darts to tranquilize elephants…) (also, somewhere along in here, I joked to Nurse K that it was probably useless telling her the catscan (with a cat) joke, as I was sure she and everyone else had heard it. She chuckled and nodded...)
Anyway, they eventually took me upstairs for the other
sonogram. I wouldn’t want to play poker
with the young woman doing it—she had the same look in her eyes as she was
viewing everything!! She did have a mask
on, so maybe she doesn’t have as great a poker face as I was thinking at that
point, but it sure seemed it! At one point the machine started making a
weird noise and I turned my head to look at it, and she told me not to worry—it
was the sound of my blood. She had to go
get her supervisor, as she couldn’t find my left ovary. (Ah-HAH.
This is why the ER doc was jabbing me sideways like he did—he probably
couldn’t find it, either…) I joked that
it was tired of the cold and probably went on vacation without me. (This is when
I learned that they just sort of float around in there…) Her supervisor found
it and at this point I thought they got a good picture of it. (It was
“anterior” and “ant-something else.”)
(No, not “-eater”!!) When I
finally looked today at the copy of the labs report that they let me take, I
saw that they never really did get a good, =good= look at it, but they got its
size and it didn’t have a cyst. (The
right one actually -does- have a little cyst on it… could have fooled me!!) (At home I was still amused about this whole situation and
imagined my shy, little left ovary wearing a chiffon headscarf, saying, “no…no paparazzi, please!!!” Again… I suspect this was the pain meds,
LOL…)
They took me back down to the ER and as nothing bad showed
up on the sonogram, I had to finish drinking this awful stuff for the catscan. I asked the nurse if she’d put down the side
on the gurney so I could go to the bathroom and said, “you know, should this
hurt??” (pointing to the iv line). No,
it wasn’t supposed to-- I’d blown the vein in moving and doing the sonogram, so
they had to take it out…
Somewhere along in here they gave me more morphine. It might
have been before that—my experience with each of the 2 doses was that an hour
and a half later, I felt it wear off and suddenly had to pee!!! (Yes. It is very hard suddenly having to pee
when you can’t walk well, but I managed, LOL…)
Then a diff’t nurse (“Nurse E”) came in to replace the IV line. Damn, that was a significant tourniquet she
put on me (SNAP!) and she started tapping all my veins and I was being
chatty. Nervous-chatty. I warned her that I’d passed out earlier and
she said, “I =heard=!!” And proceeded to tell me about some guy she once had
who was so nervous that he worked himself into a seizure. And we continued to chat—she was funny and
down to earth and reminded me a bit of my friend Roben, who’s also a nurse.
She didn’t like any veins on that same arm. (“Nurse K used
the only good vein over here!!”) So, she tried my right. She said that my veins were all “short.” (not enough room in them for iv line—we had a
huge discussion about veins at this point…)
I laughed and told her that I’m the shortest of my siblings and my
brother teased me when I was little about being short, and I couldn’t WAIT to
tell him my veins were short, too! She
got a kick out of that… I said what about these big ones in my hands? (I’ve had ivs in there before…) She said the catscan guys don’t like it when
you use those. (ok, whatever…) She thought
a vein near my right wrist looked promising, so she put it in and I was looking
away (needles, etc.) and she said, “Well, look at that. Nope, that’s not going
to work…” and I looked and saw a huge lump growing (she’d injected some saline
to test the line)… Aaaand, Commence freakout.
She said, “no, no, it’s ok, It’s ok!!!
It’s just saline and we take it out and it’s fine!!!” I calmed down as she went back to the left
arm to try to find something there again.
She was tapping away trying to find something, and that’s
when the 4th year came back in.
They also wanted to do a dye contrast for the catscan and I had to
listen to all the potential perils and sign a consent. After the first potential issue, I turned to
Nurse E on my left side and said, “I was much preferring our vein discussion to
all of this stuff she’s telling me.” After
the 2nd potential effect (allergy and anaphylactic shock), I was
considerably frightened and said, “we =really= have to do this?!?!? All that
yucky stuff I had to drink wasn’t =enough=!?!”
Nurse E assured me they do these every day and not to worry. Somewhere in all of this while the 4th
year was talking and distracting (aka terrifying) me, she got the new line in
me and I didn’t even =notice= it happening!
She’s good. I do have a little
bruise where the first one blew and I have a tiny red mark where the 2nd
one blew, but I cannot even =find= where she put this 3rd one in me
(closer to my hand on my left arm. I am significantly impressed!!!)… I signed
the consent and a bit later, Nurse K came back in and I told her that the dye thing
sounded really scary, and she told me that in all the time she’d been there,
she’d never seen anyone have a reaction and that made me feel sort of better. (It didn’t occur to me until just now that I
have no idea how long she’s been there, LOL!)
I had to wait a bit after drinking the yucky stuff before
they could do the catscan and my phone had run out of charge so I couldn’t call
anyone, and I was almost out of iPod charge, and I thought, OH, I have my
knitting with me, but was afraid that the movement of my hands would dislodge
the iv again, so pretty much just lay there and tried to rest and not think
about dire things. I briefly thought
about calling someone to see if they wanted to come down and keep me company,
but didn’t think I wanted anyone seeing me crying every time I moved and
it hurt and besides, no phone charge, LOL.
I think this is the first day in
months I’ve gone off in the morning with no music and I lay there wishing I had
some to work on memorizing. They finally
wheeled me over to the catscan rooms. BRRR.
After a while, I heard them wheel another guy over to wait, and he said
rather loudly, “God DAMN it is cold over here…Fuck!!!” I couldn’t see him, but said, “I =know=,
right?!?!” He laughed. When I finally got into the room (I had to
wait and wait and wait…) I asked the guy if it was because of the machines that
it had to be so cold and he said yes. Just about the minute I got on the table I had
to pee again. Ugh. Oh, LOL, also, he was
helping me get on the table and was reaching for my left hand and I said,
“No!! We have to be careful—I’ve already
blown 2 iv lines! If I come back with this one messed up, those nurses are
gonna kill me!” He thought that was very
funny. He was also very nice and was
amused when I was asking him something and interrupted myself with, “wait…is
that a =fly= on the ceiling?!” It actually
was!! I have no idea where it came from. He said, “Did you feel like someone was
watching you??” Heh…The actual test didn’t last long at all. I was thinking it would be really funny if
the fly flew down and got in one of the pictures. I think that was the morphine…So, I was
trying to be all still, but was wanting to shiver from the cold and shake from
the laughter and was trying not to pee. Then he put in the dye and it didn’t take long for it to go in and I had no adverse reaction, except
it makes you feel warm all over. (ALL
over…I said I feel warm, and he said, “that’s ok—and you might feel like you’re
urinating on yourself.” I lay there thinking about how badly I had to go and
was worried it was more than the dye’s reaction and then he ran me through the
machine once more after that. I said to him, “that’s =it=?!” He said, “see? You were nervous for
absolutely nothing…” I said, “yeah,
that’s usually the way it is, isn’t it…”
Then I told him I =really= needed the bathroom and he opened the door
and I did a lurch-sprint and the guy who’d sworn about the cold had just opened
the restroom door to go himself, but saw me and let me go first and I thanked him. “whew…”
They wheeled me back to the ER and then I had to wait and
wait for the results, so I sat and watched people come and go and watched the
doctor and nurses at their station. I
went to the bathroom again (a longer walk, as they’d put someone else in the
other room while I was getting the catscan), and the doctor watched me walk and
asked me some more about the pain and sort of frowned and came over and poked
at me again. He went away and I lay
there thinking what I =thought= were really deep thoughts but I suspect the
pain killers were influencing that.
However, I did think that the most impt. piece of technology, to use the
word loosely, in the entire ER is the =wheel=.
Gurneys, wheelchairs, the chairs at the nurse’s station, carts with bedsheets, carts with other equipment—I saw a
portable x-ray machine being wheeled around, and the first sonogram I had was from a little machine
on a wheeled cart. The cleaning guy who
I’d seen several times and who was doing his best to make me smile every time
he passed had a garbage can with wheels at one point. That whole place would be VERY different if
wheels didn’t exist!!!
Finally the doctor came over to tell me that my catscan
showed everything (bowels, uterus, kidneys, lower bits of lungs, heart) was
fine, too (I have a tiny bit of diverticulosis, which is the little pouching
through which the diverticulitis can happen, so I need to be sure to eat a lot
of fiber…), and that it looked like what was wrong is a really strained groin
muscle. I thanked him for everything he
did and told him that while I’m really glad that nothing’s seriously wrong with
me, it was sort of embarrassing after all those tests to find out it really is
a pulled muscle. He said he was glad it wasn’t anything more serious. Nurse E
to me when I said this to her, “What?!
Pain is pain—you have nothing to be embarrassed about!” I said that I had no idea how I was going to
get home and she started to tell me where the subway was and I laughed and
said, no, I knew that but I was probably going to take a cab. She gave me my prescriptions and discharge
papers and a copy of my labs (figured would be useful), and told me there was a
Duane Reade drugstore at the corner. I
said, “Oh, good, I can get a cane.” She
said, “a Cane?!” And I said, “did you
=see= me only barely making it to the bathroom over there?! I’m =really= not walking very well…” She understood finally what I meant when I
said I had no idea how I could get home and she said, “oh we have lots of
those!” and went and got me one. Oh, it
was slow going, but so much nicer and a bit less painful to remain upright
using that than lurching to the left and worrying about falling over!!!!!
The pharmacy at the Duane Reade was closed--oh, the poor
counter girl…I had sort of “had it” by that point and as I said, “oh the nurse
at the hospital said it was 24 hours!!” and just started crying of fatigue,
hunger and frustration… she apologized and said the store was 24 hours, but the
pharmacy closes at 9. I apologized for
crying and she said her mom recently went through something and she hoped I got
home safely and got what I needed. I had a brief moment of,
omg, I’m so not old enough to be compared to your mom! Instead I thanked her
and paid for my water and gatorade (I’m supposed to drink a lot today) and as I
was leaving, she called, “YOU CAN DO IT!!”
I laughed and said, “Thanks!” I then
hailed a cab and had him drop me at the Walgreen’s up near me, which I thought
had a 24 hour pharmacy. I was right and I
got my Rx’s and a sandwich from the deli across the street (had had nothing to
eat since 10am when I had 3 slices of bacon and a can of coke—I hadn’t eaten my
2 hard boiled eggs (the rest of my breakfast) and had them with me all day, but
they didn’t want me to have them at the ER in case something was wrong and they
needed to rush me to surgery. They weren’t enough though, hence the sandwich…) and
then I took another cab for the short ride to the apt. (ZOMG, I =know=--3 cabs
in one day!! Oy.) and, well… that’s that.
