The ER ordeal in more detail

Good thing I mentioned to the ER receptionist that I didn't really feel well enough to sit on a hard chair waiting to be seen, that I'd much prefer to be on a gurney/bed/whatever laying down. First of all, the waiting room was filled to the rafters with people. Several of them had something wrong which was obviously appropriate for them to be there at 10:30 on a weeknight. Lots of others, however, were the kind of people who come to the ER several times a week at night to be able to be inside where it's warm, there's a bathroom, and they might convince an employee to provide them with a meal. Those folks were generally filthy, smelly and obnoxious to everyone. Yecch. So when the incredibly overworked triage nurse got to me he gave me a mask to wear and found me a gurney where I could wait. And wait and wait and wait. At 2AM I asked to see Marshall, who had been dozing in the waiting room, and I told him to go home, no sense in him losing a whole night's sleep. Just as I was telling him a doctor came to see me. Marshall left and the doctor, a young woman, got the whole story from me, asked a bunch of questions, then ordered a series of tests to be done, including blood and urine testing, a chest x-ray (I had been having upper respiratory issues), and a CT scan of my head (I'd had a headache for several days). She then announced that she was going off duty and would pass all my info onto the next doctor to be in charge of me.

So picture this: The hallways and doorways are filled with people on gurneys stacked like sardines with no room to move. The staff is so overworked that they are simply trying to keep their heads above water and keep their sense of humor. I am laying on a gurney, no hair to speak of on my head, no eyebrows, and my nose and mouth covered with a blue mask. I am wide awake, watching and listening to everything. Because I am in a doorway people pass through to get to another area, folks are walking past me in both directions constantly.

I look at each person as they pass, trying to catch their eye to notice their response to me. Because I look unusual, they take a short glance at me. Some smiled at me, a few even said hello, but most avoided my eyes and kept going. One nice woman even reached out in her hurry and stroked my arm softly, that was very nice. At some point I heard someone say, 'Let's find a room for that lady in the mask,' but it was a long time before the room was found. Not having a watch and with no clock in site, I had to keep asking people for the time throughout the night.

So it was 2 when I first spoke to a doctor, maybe 4 when a wonderful nurse named Ron came over to me to begin the blood and urine testing. Ron was great - he set himself up with the tray he needed and the stool he'd sit on and proceeded to talk to me, find a vein, chat like he had both all the time in the world AND the interest to get to know me, all while he was in the way of traffic which worked its way around him and there was noise, talking, PA announcements. His focus on me was incredible. I'd never seen anything like it. Even after his stool was taken he still worked with no sign of stress at all.

I think it was around 4 or so when I got a lovely private room in the ER, but it was much later when I finally found out the name of the nurse in charge of my care. He apparently felt it wasn't necessary to come in and introduce himself, maybe do vital signs, maybe ask if I needed anything. It was only when this nurse, Steve, gave his report to his break-relief nurse that I heard I had a nurse. As soon as that happened I called out (they were right next to my room), ' Can anyone tell me the name of my nurse?' The nurse in charged turned around and said to Steve, 'Is it possible that this patient DOESN'T know the name of her nurse?'

Steve and I did not connect on any personal level as I had done with every nurse I'd seen so far, pretty much, all happy people who really loved providing kind care to every patient they saw.

Steve never did introduce himself, but somehow I got a sandwich and the x-ray and CT scan done, both negative. At around 10:30 (12 hours after getting to the ER) I was installed in get another lovely private room (in isolation, but nice to be alone) on the 8th floor. My nurse, an African woman named Aster, is a traveller nurse. That's the term they use for nurses who opt to move every 13 weeks to a new city, with housing provided, in order to fill short term needs for nurses and have a chance to get to know another city. Aster loves it.

I tried to relax, thinking I might catch some shut eye, but it was not to be. The patient in the room right next to mine was calling out, in a large and pathetic voice, things like, 'Noooooooo, stoooooooop, someone helllllllp meeeee.' The first 3 hours I was there this continued non-stop. As Aster explained when I finally saw her again (she'd been trying to help the lady next door), that patient was there to die. No family, in her 90s, scared to death, Aster had called a friend of the patient who eventually came and read to her and calmed her down. Frightening to hear . . .

Bottom line on the medical front - the reason I was admitted - was that my white blood cell count was high. As I explained to each and every doctor who saw me - 6 in all - my wbc count was high as a direct result of my self-injection of Neupogen, which is SUPPOSED to increase my wbc count and help me continue on the aggressive chemo we had planned. I guess none of them believed me, maybe they just aren't used to having a patient who is well informed and can advocate for herself.

So, at 2:45 my medical team came in and informed me that I was to be discharged shortly. They finally decided to consult an oncologist who backed me up. I was released at 4:00 and able to be home in time for the Sabbath.

Along the way I was given morphine IV for my joint pain which really worked well, so I was given a stronger pain med to take home, one without aspirin, tylenol or ibuprofen in it. I am finishing a 5 day course of antibiotics, although they never did find any sign of a specific infection. My headache has dissolved, I didn't have any continuing gastrointestinal involvement after Thursday evening.

All in all, I met many nice, committed people at Kaiser who were working very hard under stressful circumstances. Other than having to wear that darn mask on my face, I wasn't really too uncomfortable once the morphine was started. (Doctors really don't get how bad the post-Taxol joint pain can be.) My fever is gone, I actually feel OK but I'm staying in my room because Heshy has a cold and I need to stay away from him.

I took the gorgeous Indian scarf, still with a tiny remnant of the incense remaining, to the hospital with me. It kept me warm, covered my back after the gown went on, covered my head when I was really cold, and decorated my bed at all other times. It made me feel like Emma was sitting there with me through the whole thing.