An ER Education

At about the seven-hour mark, a crusty thirtysomething fellow started raising a storm.  He demanded the admitting clerk call an ambulance to take him to another hospital to be treated.  While he was very loud and a bit rough in appearance, he never said anything improper.  When the clerk refused, he asked whether there was anyone who would loan him a cell phone to call an ambulance.  He called the local Veterans Hospital and told them that this hospital had informed him of a likely five-hour wait.  He said he had been in an accident, had a splitting headache and couldn't see straight.  He predicted he could be dead before he was even examined here. His performance was somewhat entertaining and even satisfying to many of us in the waiting room.  He left and it was quiet again. Again, my conscience told me to keep my own mouth shut; all I had was a bad tummy ache.

Eight full hours after I had signed in, my name was called.  I glanced sympathetically at the fellow with his finger barely hanging on and quickly jumped up to follow the nurse. (Really sorry, dude, hope it all worked out for you!)

No scan was ordered, just a conversation with the very competent ER doctor who concurred with my diagnosis of diverticulitis—which occurs when the lower intestine becomes inflamed or infected. Then the doctor and I discovered that we had a common interest in sushi and spent more time sharing notes on where to go for good Japanese food than we did on the medical issue.

We asked the doctor how to avoid spending a day in the ER just to get antibiotics.  She explained that had I arrived in an ambulance, I would have received immediate treatment; ambulances were handled immediately. After 10 hours at the hospital, I left with a prescription and a first-class education in the ER crisis.  Trust me, it is real.

Staley lives in Gladstone, Mo.

© 2007