mnvnjnsn's Diary

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Notes from the ER

After the puking at work, I went home. And the stabbing pain in my lower right quadrant (pardon the doc speak) started at about 5-ish. My first mistake of many was calling my mother.

"It's your appendix," she stated. "Get your ass to the emergency room. You don't mess around with that."

I got to the waiting room at about 6pm. There were roughly 20 people in there, mostly family members waiting for loved ones already in the back. Anyone want to guess how long I was waiting in the waiting room? Anyone?

Three and a half hours.

Yeah. Luckily, Trevor Dunnigan was there to hang onto. He soothed me and got me water and soothed me some more. He whispered encouragement in my ear and kissed me on my forehead and was just a wonderful boyfriend. Kudos, and kudos again. I'm so lucky.

Except for the whole ER thing. So, they finally call me back at 9:30. By then, the stabbing pain had stopped, and my "regular" hip, leg and back pain had taken its place. They made me pee in a cup and left me for 2 more hours in the room right inside the big, clanging doors that separate the waiting room from the ER. As you can surely imagine, it was very relaxing.

You would think, for all the waiting and the pain, that I'd at least get Goran Visnjic but no, I get the lead singer of Midnight Oil. He came in and basically said that if it were appendicitis, the pain wouldn't be going away. He said he'd like to draw some blood, and do a pelvic exam (!) and then, if I wanted to, I could stay and do more tests, or I could go home. I elected to go home.

But not for another two hours.

First, they put in an IV, for no apparent reason. They gave me no intravenous drugs, which in my mind is the ONLY reason for an IV. I do have to give a shout out to the nurse who put it in. She was very talented, and I appreciate very little more than I do a good phlebotomist.

Then I waited. And waited. On occasion, a nurse would come in and announce the doctor wanted to do a pelvic exam, and then she'd leave. I was in a room on a bed that was not meant for pelvic exams. It wasn't even a craftmatic. So I knew this was gonna be fun

Warning: Men and Boys may want to skip this section. In fact, I insist that you do so. Those who know me, especially, no reading.

So Dr. Peter Garrett comes in, with his latex-free purple gloves, and proceeds to administer the most draconian exam I have ever had. Now, I'm all for equal rights, but I'm NOT a fan of male doctors giving pelvic exams. I've never had one from a male doctor. And I don't want another one. It's just creepy to me. So, since I'm not on a pelvic-exam table, my ass is balanced on a bedpan, back arched, legs akimbo, with everything from my belly button on down free and available-- no sheet, no nothing-- and I am probed by a six-foot-two ex-football star ten years my junior. And they didn't find a damn thing.

Ok, boys, you can start reading again.

It was hell. After that, I had to wait another hour for test results with a dry IV and a sense of violation. They finally let me go, at two in the morning, with no diagnosis, no test results and no dignity.

But hey, I'm not so depressed any more. I got to call in sick and stay home with the cats. And all it took was a visit to Mengele hospital.

12:39 p.m. - 2003-07-15


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