Posts Tagged ‘intense pain’

Read One Day at a Time – Part One

Shortly after settling into the hospital bed, a doctor came into the room, introducing himself and took a seat in one of the two chairs in the room. I explained to him my reason for coming: leg soreness and severe body aches.

He then asked why I had not seen my primary care physician. I explained my internist was located in Oak Park, and I had not visited her since she referred me to my neurologist back in July concerning my Big Brain. Considering my recent medical history, basic medical needs, such as physicals and regular check-ups, have really taken a back seat.

Within five minutes of our conversation, he said to me that he did not want to give me any medications because he had concerns that I was simply a “pain seeker.”

“Wait, are you calling me a drug addict?” I asked abruptly.

“Well, considering your history with our hospital, you have been here three times in ten days seeking pain medication…”

“Maybe because I’m in pain!” My tone sharpened and my volume exploded. This was not wholly unusual in the past several days; the more the pain progressively grew, the more irrational, desperate, and aggressive I’d become. Pain will cause you to do anything–or go against anyone–to soothe the feeling.

“I am going by the notes of my previous colleague. And your CT scan, ultrasound, and blood work indicate there is nothing wrong.”

“I cannot believe that you are accusing me of being a crackhead! I am here because I’m in pain! And if anything, it is you and your colleagues who are at fault for me coming to the ER so much!” At this point, I was screaming, maybe not at the top of my lung but close to it.

“How so?” He asked, taken aback.

“Maybe if you guys would take a thorough investigative approach to this matter, then maybe I wouldn’t be here. You would give me one test, then send me home with pain meds. Then take another test and send me home with more pain meds.” At this point I was uninterruptable. “And for your information, I did not even know what Dilaudid was until your doctor at your hospital gave it to me a week and a half ago. Never in my life have I been accused of being a drug addict. If I was looking for drugs, then why would I go through all of the tests? I want to be out of pain, I want a solution, not more pain meds! And you, a medical professional would have the audacity to say I’m a pain seeker? I came here to be treated, not insulted. I am so fed up with you doctors passing me along like a hot potato these last couple of weeks. I am in pain, don’t you guys get that?” At the end of my tirade, I was almost out of breath.

“Are you done?” He asked, in a mildly sarcastic tone.

“It depends on what you have to say next.” I jabbed back.

“You said other doctors, what other doctors have you seen?”

Still livid at his alluded accusation, I explained my latest surgery, subsequent visits and with the surgeons, the ER visits, all of the tests, the appointment with my neurologist and future appointment with a rheumatologist. I assume, to him, my story had a ring of truth, coincidentally because it was the truth.

“OK, I am going to go review your chart and request your medical information from Northwestern. I will also send in a nurse to take your blood.”

Once he left the room, I became hysterical. I was crying so hard and loudly, I was sure my sobs could be heard in other wings of the hospital. I was physical in pain. Up to this point, I felt dismissed and passed along by doctors. Now my integrity and medical state was now being called into question.

Read One Day at a Time – Part Three

Read 911 is a Joke – Part 1

The ambulance drivers carried my stretcher off of the truck in a concreted loading zone. I was pushed into the hospital and into room 34. They leveled the stretcher adjacent to the emergency room bed. I pulled myself from one makeshift bed to another.

Two nurses greeted me, got more information from me: reason for the visit, medical history, a picture ID and of course, my insurance card. After I explained all that I’ve been through in the last six and a half months, the first thing she said me was “You are too young to be going through all of this.”

Tell me about it.

After assessing my blood pressure, oxygen level, and my temperature, one nurse insert an IV into my right arm, which still had the scabs and scars from my previous procedures. She took a few tubes of blood and left, just as the ER doctor entered the room.

I explained to him my most recent surgery, which required a tendon to be removed from my left thigh and for some reason I have been experience intense pain I could best describe as an internal bruise, which was spreading by the day. But the most important reason for my visit were the body aches; I felt like I had the flu but exhibited no other symptoms.

After describing the reason for my visit, I also informed him of my doctor’s order for a CT Scan–a document I received the day prior because of my severe leg pain–offering him the actual printing order for review. As he scanned the order, he said “Otolaryngology” and “Removal of tendon in upper leg” as if these were foreign concepts. He immediately confessed that this was not in his realm of expertise, but would give me medication to relieve the pain and order the CT Scan.

The nurse came in shortly with four packages of needles:

• Dilaudid – an opiate that is four times stronger than morphine
• Motrin – I believe in the realm of 800mg
• Zofran – a nausea-prevention medication

She attached a tube to the IV. My mouth was lightly scented with the taste of saline. She was cleaning the IV. She must have come in with four packages. Then she attached the other rubes, in what order I do not know, but I know for certain when she gave me the Dilaudid.

A rushing euphoric pressure consumed my head, as if the nurse was slowly blowing warm air into my skull. The rush was slightly uncomfortable, but it was too good not to notice. I was speaking to the nurse about my latest surgery ordeal, and in mid-sentence, I paused and took heed to the Dilaudid.

The nurses teasingly commented on my reaction, I assume because it was similar to other patients: dumbfounding elation. My pain was gone. My mind was lucid, but detached from my surroundings. I basked in this unknown high.

Soon, I was transported to have my CT scan. As they rolled me through the halls, all the lonely wheelchairs and hospital beds lined against the wall, dissolved behind me in slow motion, yet in real time. We arrived in the small, cold room with the humming CT machine. Before I scooted over to the CT bench, the technician asked how I was doing. I gave him a thumbs up. It was as if the feeling of the drug would not allow me to speak.

I rested comfortably on the narrow bench, while the technician connected the iodine contrast solution to my IV. He disappeared into the control room, where he could operate the machinery and dispense the solution for the scan.

I have had many CT Scans in the last six months–nine to be exact–so I know exactly what to expect. They mechanically shifted the bench, inch by inch, and then came the solution. The hot sensation starts at the crown of your head and slowly works its way done to your neck, then chest, then groin, then legs and finally feet. It is the sensation you’d crave after coming in from three hours in a blizzard. But combined with the Dilaudid , I was on another planet.

But that feeling didn’t last very long, when the doctor reviewed my scan results and blood work. He told me there was no indication that anything was wrong with me. Nothing. He had no idea why my leg was in pain. He had no idea why my body ached.

A prescription was written for medication to help ease my pain and I was discharged. A taxi came then I was home.