Once upon a time, I was having horrible abdominal pain. I couldn’t lay down without passing out from pain (laying down made it worse for some reason) and so I decided the ER would be a good thing.
I arrive at 2am on a Sunday morning and get seen fairly quickly. They make me lay down for examinations, even though I explained that it would be a bad idea,and I pass out. I wake up to the sound of my own screams and about 8 different med type people crowded into my tiny emergency room area, all drawn by my gawdawful shrieks. I still haven’t been given anything for pain, but it’s only been about an hour.
I go to have x-rays. My nipple rings and bellybutton rings are visible. The doctor tells me he has to tell my mother (I was 16) because it was illegal to get that done. Wrong. A law regarding underage piercings had just been passed, but I tried to explain that it did not apply to me because I had been pierced since 15, when the law was different. He didn’t care to listen and told my mother anyway. What ever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality, anyway?
They jab me with a catheter and enemize me (blech!) and perform plenty of painful tests, all involving my poor vagina. At about 9am (seven hours after admittance) they concluded that I had a hemmhorragic ovarian cyst. Great. I finally got a bed and some morphine.
Fast forward to the next evening. Surgery time. They gurney me into the OR, then make me crawl from the gurney to the operating table. Great. I wake up after what was supposed to be an easy, routine surgery. I was told I could go home the next day. Wrong. Somehow, my poor little lungs had filled with fluid (flash pulmonary edema), effectively drowning me.
I woke up in ICU, unable to move or breathe properly. I stayed there for a week, under the care of a sadistic pulmonologist who told me repeatedly that I wasn’t even trying to relearn to breathe. It seems as if she forgot that my lungs were still full of fluid, causing a particularly nasty bit of pneumonia.
Once I escaped from ICU, the nurses would poke and prod me all through the night, all seemingly unable to figure out how to stick me with an IV properly. One ran away crying because she had tried and failed so many times. I eventually ran out of space and had to get IVs in my feet. Oh boy.
So, that’s my commiserative hospital horror story.
B.Pants