I hate hospitals
I've never been as scared as I was last night.
I was watching TV when my mom got up to go to the bathroom. She looked woozier than she usually does just waking up. She even had to hold on to the wall as she walked; a bad sign. I asked her what was the matter and she only shook her head. The lightheadedness did not seem to go away. She clung to furniture where she stood and swayed. Panicked, I put my arm around her and tried to guide her to the couch, but she crumpled to the floor and it was all I could do to keep her upright, shouting to my broter in the front room.
My mom managed to walk to the couch, but once she sat down her head tipped back, eyes open and unseeing, breathing in horrible short gasps. I was frantic, calling her, thinking that maybe it was her time and how unprepared I was for it, reciting the name of God into her ears, trying to feel her pulse, vaguely noticing she was breathing...
Meanwhile my brother had gone to the neighbor's, who came immediately and offered to drive us to the hospital. By this time my mom was fully conscious, but was coldsweating heavily, too weak to even hold up her head. My brother checked her blood pressure, which was normal for her. I ran around the house packing her clothes and medication. My brother got Mom to drink sugar water and then we were off to the hospital.
I know that most hospitals probably don't operate like those in TV series like ER. But it still made me mad that when we arrived no one came up with a wheelchair or guerney. Nurses in scrubs sat scribbling on the information desk. The duty doctor sat scribbling at her desk. No one looked up much less rushed to our aid when my mom and her entourage shuffled through the sliding door.
My mom, who used to work in that same hospital, finally called an ER nurse by name and said, "I need help." And then we still had to walk my mom another 10 meter or so to a bed. And then he left us! He came back maybe a minute or two later with gadgets to measure blood pressure and I don't know what else. Finally the doctor stirred from her throne and sashayed into the room and asked what had happened.
Everything afterward went in maddeningly confusing and slow fashion. After lots of paper to sign, two trips to the pharmacy to get folley catheter and injections (why they couldn't just put it on, inject, whatever and bill me later I have no idea), the duty doctor getting pissed because I brought my mom's meds and forgot to tell her, my brother being sent running to the lab with blood samples, the doctor finally said my mom had diabetic shock and was to stay for 24 hour observation in the intensive care unit.
So here I am now, in a half-circle waiting room listening to a wailing child somewhere in the pediatric ICU, the monotonous beep of machines coming from inside, the snoring of other people waiting for news. I hate hospitals. This one, this time, more than others.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
I was watching TV when my mom got up to go to the bathroom. She looked woozier than she usually does just waking up. She even had to hold on to the wall as she walked; a bad sign. I asked her what was the matter and she only shook her head. The lightheadedness did not seem to go away. She clung to furniture where she stood and swayed. Panicked, I put my arm around her and tried to guide her to the couch, but she crumpled to the floor and it was all I could do to keep her upright, shouting to my broter in the front room.
My mom managed to walk to the couch, but once she sat down her head tipped back, eyes open and unseeing, breathing in horrible short gasps. I was frantic, calling her, thinking that maybe it was her time and how unprepared I was for it, reciting the name of God into her ears, trying to feel her pulse, vaguely noticing she was breathing...
Meanwhile my brother had gone to the neighbor's, who came immediately and offered to drive us to the hospital. By this time my mom was fully conscious, but was coldsweating heavily, too weak to even hold up her head. My brother checked her blood pressure, which was normal for her. I ran around the house packing her clothes and medication. My brother got Mom to drink sugar water and then we were off to the hospital.
I know that most hospitals probably don't operate like those in TV series like ER. But it still made me mad that when we arrived no one came up with a wheelchair or guerney. Nurses in scrubs sat scribbling on the information desk. The duty doctor sat scribbling at her desk. No one looked up much less rushed to our aid when my mom and her entourage shuffled through the sliding door.
My mom, who used to work in that same hospital, finally called an ER nurse by name and said, "I need help." And then we still had to walk my mom another 10 meter or so to a bed. And then he left us! He came back maybe a minute or two later with gadgets to measure blood pressure and I don't know what else. Finally the doctor stirred from her throne and sashayed into the room and asked what had happened.
Everything afterward went in maddeningly confusing and slow fashion. After lots of paper to sign, two trips to the pharmacy to get folley catheter and injections (why they couldn't just put it on, inject, whatever and bill me later I have no idea), the duty doctor getting pissed because I brought my mom's meds and forgot to tell her, my brother being sent running to the lab with blood samples, the doctor finally said my mom had diabetic shock and was to stay for 24 hour observation in the intensive care unit.
So here I am now, in a half-circle waiting room listening to a wailing child somewhere in the pediatric ICU, the monotonous beep of machines coming from inside, the snoring of other people waiting for news. I hate hospitals. This one, this time, more than others.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.