Dr. Dolittles

The state of health care today would be comical, were it not so tragic. 

Yesterday I experienced high blood pressure numbers during the afternoon. This was not unusual since I've taken medication for a condition called labile hypertension for 20 years. But this time was different, as the numbers on my BP monitor kept going up despite my usual tricks for turning it around. When they hit 228/108, a doctor friend who I trust implicitly told me to go to the closest ER. Fortunately my husband could drive me since I was afraid to move for fear my veins might explode, or whatever happens with unchecked high blood pressure.

The triage nurse, an affable chap who reminded me of a young Bill Murray, spouted words straight out of a slapstick comedy. He said there was no need to come to the ER, because "We treat symptoms, not numbers." Since I was not having any symptoms except for the growing anxiety that I might stroke out any second, it was "no biggie." In fact, Bill
-- let's call him that -- said to "throw away your blood pressure monitor, never take it at home, it will just make you crazy." So, even though he said I was free to go, Bill led me to the inner sanctum where all the curtains are to meet a doctor named Jake who would assess my situation more thoroughly.

After waiting some time Jake never materialized so we decided to leave, but then another doctor arrived who asked a lot of questions. Her advice was to suggest that my cardiologist increase my medication. Still, my high BP numbers, which by now had come down considerably after taking some extra meds, were fine with her. She said it would be okay to go out to dinner with friends, something we had planned to do that night but were no longer up for. After about 45 minutes I was released, with nothing at all having happened to me except for racking up a huge bill.

My emergency turned out to not be an emergency after all. So we went to Five Guys and got a burger and fries.