Very slowly, the male nurse makes his way over to the nurse's station. He calls the emergency department (ED) and informs them I will be arriving shortly. After a brief discussion about my symptoms, the nurse hangs up the phone. He summons a couple nurses to help him transport me to the ED. Since the ED is connected via hallways to the infusion center, the nursing team decides to leave me in the recliner, which is on wheels. The team pushes the bulky recliner with my ventilator perched on the recliner's side table. Another nurse pushes my wheelchair ahead of the recliner entourage.
It seems as though it takes ages and ages to make our way to the ED. As we roll through several areas of the medical facility, I see people staring at me. As we pass near one of the main hospital entrances, I yearn to look for my mom. I have a feeling she is in the lobby waiting for me. I then realize my current state of health might greatly alarm her. I cease from peering into the lobby and turn my face away.
When we arrive at the ED, the triage nurse very slowly registers me. He then tells my infusion team to take me around to the back of the triage area. I am deposited in a back area. The male infusion nurse insists my IVIG infusion (although it is turned off for the time being) be left attached. The infusion center nurse instructs the triage nurse that as soon as I am stabilized, the infusion should be resumed. I am in disbelief at the infusion center nurse. "Really!? You want me to have a repeat performance of this frightening ordeal!?" I pray they will not continued IVIG infusion.
The triage nurse takes my vitals. He then says I will have to wait for a room. He abandons me in a back room and returns to his station at the triage desk. I wait and wait. My body is starting to recover from the infusion. My airways are opening up. My tongue is decreasing in size. I am slowly able to articulate words. My head, neck and back still rage in pain. However, the nausea is gradually receding. I wait 25 minutes for a room in the ED. Right before I am taken back, I almost ask to be released. I have been in too many EDs lately. I have been hospitalized too many times. I know if I stay to be seen by a physician, there is a good chance I will be admitted to the hospital. The thought of spending one more moment in the hospital is almost enough for me to flee the ED. However, my symptoms are still too intense. I remain recumbent in the recliner and pray the infusion center was able to contact my mom. Although I am in rough shape, I really need her presence to help calm the fear coursing through my body.
An hour and a half after the start of my IVIG infusion, I am wheeled into an ED room. I am transferred onto a bed and abandoned. I sit in the room shaking and trying to calm my nerves. I am lamenting my decision to be brought back to an ED room. I should have fled when I had a chance. Thankfully, my mom arrives in my ED room a half hour later. I am grieved that I am still tremendously sick from the IVIG, but I am overflowing with gratitude that I now have someone to speak for me and advocate for me. We wait and wait to see the physician.
Two hours and 20 minutes after coming to the ED, a physician is in my room. By this time, most of my symptoms have subsided. I still suffer from an intense headache, and a stiff and painful neck. Most of the other symptoms have decreased in intensity to be only annoyances rather than major burdens. The ED doctor is rather unconcerned about my IVIG reaction. He tells me IVIG reactions are quite common. About 15% of all first-time IVIG recipients experience a reaction. Thankfully, now that I have had a reaction, my second IVIG infusion should go smoothly. I look at this man in his white coat and think, "You cannot tell me that you would recommend me receiving more IVIG? My tongue and airways swelled up. This is a type of anaphylactic reaction. I am fairly confident if you gave more more IVIG, I would have a worse reaction even faster than this one." Although I want to argue with the doctor, I am too tired and too despondent to respond to his remarks.
Blood work is ordered, a CT scan and X-ray are completed. I am given IV fluids and am told my headache will go away because I am dehydrated. I almost laugh out loud. I am not dehydrated. On the way to my ED room, I had to stop off at the ladies' room and deposit over one liter of fluids. Believe me, I am not dehydrated. In fact, the urge to go again is creeping up on me. I am grateful when the nurse asks for a urine sample. "Oh, thank You LORD for the opportunity to use the restroom again."
My ED experience slowly creeps by. With each passing hour, I am feeling better and better. I am grateful when a nurse finally disconnects the IVIG infusion line. I am told I will not be receiving any more IVIG for the day. I breathe a sigh of relief. Four and a half hours after arriving at the ED, a nurse walks into my room. She says she needs to start another IV. I am dumbfounded. I am ready for her to pull out my first IV and discharge me home. I inquire why I need another IV when I am going to be going home very soon. She informs me I am going to be admitted to the hospital. A request has been made for me to be transferred up to the ICU. As soon as a bed is available, I will be moved. Upon hearing these words, tears spring up in my eyes. I think I am going to vomit. A voice screams in my head, "No! NO!!! I was not supposed to be admitted to the hospital. This was not part of the plan. I was just supposed to get pain and anti-nausea meds. Then I was going to go home and sleep in my glorious own bed! Oh, no! NO! I cannot stay another moment in a hospital. I cannot endure another hospitalization. Oh, this has to be a mistake! Oh, this cannot be real." The nurse starts another IV line. She then leaves.
It is growing late in the day. My mom is very tired and very hungry. Knowing it could be many hours before a bed opens up for me in the ICU, she bids me farewell and leaves for home. As I wait and wait for my bed in the ICU, I again think about fleeing the ED. Where would I go? I am 45 minutes away from home. How much would a taxi cost? Is there some place where I could sleep for the night and have my parents pick me up in the morning? As these thoughts race through my head, I decide I am too exhausted and do not have the energy to maneuver my wheelchair along with all my belongings out of the ED. Broken-heartedly, I resign myself to staying in the ED and waiting for my deluxe accommodations in the ICU. Not knowing what else to do, I click open my iPad and start reading God's Word.
(Link to Part Four click here)
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