Experience at the E.R

When it rains, it pours right? I guess. I’ve now been to the E.R twice in 6 months. Before this last September, I hadn’t been to the E.R in over 4 years. I’m poor, so I don’t have a regular dr. I can afford to go to. Unfortunately, this means my medical care is dictated by the severity of the condition. If it’s severe enough, I go to the E.R.; otherwise, I just wait it out and hope it gets better. It didn’t get better.

It started with a cough, not severe just annoying. Within days, I was suffering from sleep deprivation because I couldn’t sleep more then a few minutes without going into a violent coughing fit. It then got worse. The coughing became so severe I lost my breath long enough, while writing at my desk that I temporarily passed out and fell off my chair. Did the thought of going to a doctor cross my mind then…NO. Instead...Gee, that sucked, hope I get over this soon.

Next, I began vomiting from the sheer force of coughing. Then thought about the Dr....Mmmm…I’ll give it another week, and if it doesn’t get better I’ll go to the E.R. Ha-ha, a week progresses, during which breathing becomes near impossible and laryngitis has become an extreme annoyance. Then do I go to the E.R? Yes!

Why did I wait for it to get so bad? Well, there are at least 400 reasons. That’s right, my weight. What is a trip to the E.R like for a 400+ girl? Heh.

After getting the wrist band and checking in, it’s directly to the nurse’s station for vitals. I tell the nurse what’s wrong. “I’ve been coughing for two weeks, now I’ve lost my voice and can’t breathe.” The nurse looks at me like, well of course you can’t breathe, your fat! I recognize the look and in a whispered rasp explain “I can’t breathe as well as I normally do.” Of course with this statement, she assumes I’m saying I normally can’t breath well, but now I really can’t breath well. :::Sigh::: No use in explaining yes, I’m fat, but I walk everywhere, and though I might become short of breath faster then fit people…I can walk a long time at an even pace before becoming short of breath. She presses her lips together, and says “yep, right in her and Mr. Nurse so and so well take your vitals.”

Mr. Nurse, heads directly to the scale, and smiles. I haven’t been weighed for 3 years, I have no idea how bad it is, only that my scale that weighs up to 420 pounds won’t do the job anymore. Nervous and ashamed, I make a joke/comment trying to prepare Mr. Nurse for the numbers about to appear on his digital scale. He politely says, this scale can handle anything. Oook.

It takes a good 15 seconds for the scale to process my weight…is that normal? And then it appears! It’s worse then I thought, but not by much. Even so, my vision narrows to those 3 little red numbers, all the background noise disappears and I’m in my own little world of mortification. I’m too shocked to continue being embarrassed.

You know those new “I’m so obese” shows, seemingly becoming more popular over the last few years. The ones where the people are bed ridden, have black scary ankles and have to have other people bath them? I’m fatter then some of them!

Curious yet?

445 pounds. That’s right, just 50 pounds from 500, ¼ of a ton. Ouch…just typing that stings.

Well, Mr. Nurse changes after he writes down the number. He becomes colder, quieter…less nice. He takes my blood pressure, I take my arm out of my coat for him. His eyes get huge and he just looks at me like “what are you doing?” I’m annoyed, and as he’s standing there with his blood pressure strap staring at me, I wave my arm at him “ok”. He shakes himself out of it, and puts it around my arm. I guess he was afraid of what he was going to see. Idiot.

He measures my BMI as 64..IDIOT. I know it’s more then that. He says you’re done, and I walk out of the nurse’s station. To be greeted by the x-ray technician. He says follow me. I smile. (I’m trying to keep from talking…it hurts) But half way there, I have to explain, while gagging for breath that…I CANT BREATH!

First of all I am fat, I’m sure he noticed. Hehe. So keeping up with his speed walking to begin with, would have been cause for heavy breathing…but I could have done it under normal circumstances! I just would have to have a few minutes at the destination to catch my breath. But at the moment…I truly can’t freaking breath! That’s why I’m hear. That is why you are taking an x-ray of my chest. IDIOT!

We get there, we walk in the room he says “Are you wearing a bra”. Hehehe…I think to myself, I’ve never done this, and I don’t know if that is a normal question…but I’m going to say it is. He gives me a gown, and leaves. 3 minutes later I give up on getting it tied up, everything hurts from the coughing. If the tie was in the middle of the back I could have done it (I’m strangely really flexible for a fat person.), but not to the side. What the hell it’s just my back he’ll be seeing.

He gets back in, and ties it up for me. Kind of embarassing. Takes the x-rays, leaves me alone for 5 minutes to get my clothes back on. Leads me out. I still have the damned gown in my hands, I give it to him. He instantly wants to give it back. Hehehe. That’s right Mr. X-ray technician, it has :::gasp::: fat person sweat on it! LOL! He really shouldn’t have been surprised. I mean take away the fact I’m fat, if you speed march a person who is sick, has a fever and can’t breath deep into the bowels of the hospital without thought to their present condition…you think they are going to end the hellish jaunt as unsweaty as they began it? Ok…now add the 400 pounds into the equation. Yeah…he shouldn’t have been surprised.

He leads me back to the waiting room. I was kind of mortified, through this whole process, and am only just now finding the humor in it. 5 minutes later, he’s back to take me to a room to see the doctor.

So now, I commence waiting. Hacking, wheezing, trying to find air, I wonder what would happen if I passed out and fell off the bed. That little speed jaunt the x-ray tech took me on, really had a nasty effect. I’ve been coughing worse, and breathing worse every sense.

Finally, the Dr. came in, he was nice and professional. Kind of dismissive though, which embarrassed me because I’m so skittish about going to the doctor anyway. I’m terrified of being labeled a hypochondriac. Anyhow, he orders a breath treatment, a few pills and the prescribes me 3 prescriptions to keep me breathing better, and one for coughing. The diagnosis…asthmatic bronchitis, laryngitis and a moderate case of middle ear infection.

When I was give the go ahead to leave, I could breath again and I hit that glossy, cold hospital floor at a fast trot, and only sped up as I saw the exit doors. I felt a since of relief as I stepped into the cold, misty night air.

Overall, the whole experience was uncomfortable, embarrassing and at times…just painful. Not as bad as some E.R visits I’ve had, but…just not something I want to do any time soon again.