Part Four: At the ED. Am I sick or will I be dismissed home?

After a few moments, the man at the emergency department (ED) check-in counter acknowledges me. He asks why I am here. I decide to not be straight forward. I don’t want to say I am having trouble breathing. My pulmonologist said I was not sick. If I indeed have a respiratory infection, I want to ED physician to make that call without being prompted. I am having abdominal pain. My pancreas is hurting. I know if I present as if I might have a panceratitis attack, I can get pain medication. If I say I have breathing problems, there is little chance of getting strong narcotics to help with my throbbing headache, stiff neck and generalized pain throughout my body. I tell the gentleman, “Abdominal pain.” He asks for my identification. He gives me a patient wristband and wheels me over to an outlet. He plugs in my ventilator and heater/humidifier.

I look around the waiting room and am relieved to see there are not a lot of people. I thank God that this means I will not have a long wait. A nurse calls my name. When she sees I am on a ventilator, she mumbles she cannot take me back to triage. She tells me to remain where I am. I wait about 30 minutes. In the meantime, other people are called back to triage. I notice that instead of using the front triage area, they are being taken down a long hallway to a far away room.

When my name is called again, the nurse triages me at the front station. She ask why I am here. I gasp for breath and state I have abdominal pain. Speaking causes me to cough. The nurse takes my vitals. The only reading I am concerned with is my temperature. I see the reading on the machine is 98.5 degrees. The nurse then sticks the thermometer into my mouth. It beeps. The screen on the machine never changes. It continues to read 98.5 degrees. I am fairly confident the machine did not take my temperature. I do not say anything as I know a fever with rapid heart rate and fast breathing will signal I am in distress. I will be pushed back immediately to the ED. I know God is directing everything. If the thermometer is not supposed to record I have a fever, it is God’s doing. The nurse scans her computer. The only open room is in the trauma center. She calls back to tell them I am coming on a home ventilator.

A medical assistant wheels me to the trauma center. As I enter the ED, I hear someone say, “What is she hear for?” Another voice answers, “Abdominal pain and shortness of breath.” The first voice says, “Not another medicine case. Why do they keep sending us medical cases?” The second voice responds, “She’s on a home ventilator. This was the only place available. We can’t leave her in the waiting room on a home ventilator.”

My ED cubicle does not have a bed. I am left in the hall while a gurney is commandeered. I sit in my wheelchair and cough up lots of thick yellow sputum. Medical personnel fly around me as they race from bed to bed. A male physician looks at me and asks the medical assistant, “What is she here for?” The medical assistant says, “Abdominal pain...” And before she can say anything else, the doctor interjects, “And shortness of breath.” (My rapid breathing is quite evident to the doctor.)

A bed swiftly arrives in the ED cubicle. I am wheeled into the shared double room and helped into the bed. (Before coming to the ED, I hid my PICC line under an Ace bandage. I did not want my PICC line to arouse any questions. My efforts were useless.) As soon as I take off my jacket, the nurse sees the Ace bandage. She asks, “Is there a PICC line under there?” Knowing God is directing everything, I say, “Yes.” She takes the bandage off and immediately collects blood from it. I am thrilled she is using my PICC line instead of poking me with a needle.

An ED physician starts asking me about my abdominal pain, but he is immediately concerned with my breathing. He asks me about my respiratory issues. He orders a chest X-ray, blood cultures, abdominal CT scan and fentanyl for the pain. I am in disbelief that I am going to be getting fentanyl. No one EVER gives me fentanyl, or I have to be screaming in pain for 12 hours before a tiny dose is given. This doctor is giving fentanyl without me asking or begging for it! Oh happy day!

I am given the fentanyl and am shocked I do not feel anything. Usually there is some sensation of the drug entering my system, but this time I feel nothing. The pain remains the same. Very quickly two radiology technicians are at my side preparing me for a chest X-ray. An X-ray machine attached to the ceiling is swung into place. A technician yells, “X-ray in use.” The machine hums and then beeps. My chest X-ray appears on a computer screen. I quickly scan the X-ray. It looks as though there is diffuse cloudiness in my right lung. Although I am a novice at reading X-rays, it looks like pneumonia.



(For the link to Part Five, click here)