In my book, any day that doesn't include time spent in a hospital Emergency Room is a good day. Today is such a day for me, despite the bleak rain and my lingering malady which may or may not have been exacerbated by yesterday's dawn visit to the ER at Maine Medical Center. I might have gotten worse anyway, but I did leave there sneezing and coughing more than before I entered that facility. Still, the team of professionals I saw clearly ruled out a heart attack as the cause of the alarming symptoms that had sent me there, and for that I was grateful.
If you think America's health care system rocks, a visit to the ER may change that view. My time there, while ultimately positive, was fraught with stressors. I won't bore you by listing them all, but instead focus on the biggest one: The orange-jumpsuit-clad prisoner bleeding profusely from his bald head who occupied the adjacent cot. When they wheeled him in I wondered about the sudden appearance of two armed guards, thinking maybe he was somebody important. Then I overheard him tell the attending physician that the injury happened while he was "sitting on a bench right outside my cell." Aha! It was then that I realized the orange suit was not simply a seasonal fashion choice.
Not that I'm against prisoners getting medical treatment, but really -- did I need to be close enough to hear (and see) all the gory details? Apparently the ER was full up and this busy hallway, although dotted with taped-up signs clearly stating it should remain empty, was the best they could do to accommodate us. Still, a divider of some sort between patients would have been nice. Jeesh -- hang up a sheet or something; even in the morgue you get your own private drawer.
A technician performed an EKG. Then my blood was drawn by a nurse who had trouble finding the vein -- not sure why as it was in the usual place -- and thus today I have a big purple bruise marking the spot on my arm where she eventually hit pay dirt. Finally I was seen by three doctors, all females under the age of thirty, two with nose rings. They were nice enough and inspired confidence, although none was all the way to a Cristina Yang. They concurred that I was still alive and would continue to be so for the foreseeable future, but that if I felt that way again I should come back immediately.
So far, today has been much nicer. I haven't seen the hospital bill yet but I'm sure it was hundreds and hundreds of dollars. Happily it won't show up for awhile since it has to first be submitted and rejected by my insurance carrier.
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| Either these signs were ignored or I was an IV cart. |
Not that I'm against prisoners getting medical treatment, but really -- did I need to be close enough to hear (and see) all the gory details? Apparently the ER was full up and this busy hallway, although dotted with taped-up signs clearly stating it should remain empty, was the best they could do to accommodate us. Still, a divider of some sort between patients would have been nice. Jeesh -- hang up a sheet or something; even in the morgue you get your own private drawer.
A technician performed an EKG. Then my blood was drawn by a nurse who had trouble finding the vein -- not sure why as it was in the usual place -- and thus today I have a big purple bruise marking the spot on my arm where she eventually hit pay dirt. Finally I was seen by three doctors, all females under the age of thirty, two with nose rings. They were nice enough and inspired confidence, although none was all the way to a Cristina Yang. They concurred that I was still alive and would continue to be so for the foreseeable future, but that if I felt that way again I should come back immediately.
So far, today has been much nicer. I haven't seen the hospital bill yet but I'm sure it was hundreds and hundreds of dollars. Happily it won't show up for awhile since it has to first be submitted and rejected by my insurance carrier.
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