Julie visits the ER

It’s not too often that one gets to do something for the first time after 38 years on this earth. But through a combination of good luck and conscientious avoidance, I have never had a visit to the ER. Yesterday, however, I was initiated to life in the ER. I spent from 7 am to 3 pm there — 8 hours of my life I will never get back (or get paid for, for that matter).

I started getting abdominal pains on my right side at dinner time on Tuesday. No biggie I thought. Just a bit of gas. After spending the night awake due to pain, I no longer thought it was gas. So I packed myself up and drove to the hospital first thing on Wednesday am.

It occurred to me that one shouldn’t really be driving themselves to the ER. Arriving with sirens and cute paramedics running alongside my stretcher was the requisite entrance, wasn’t it? I wondered if I was acting like a hypochondriac, and that the people in the ER would nod at me when I described my pain but then turn around and roll their eyes thinking, “oh, another one of THOSE ones.” At this point I was starting down on a familiar self-hating conversational path telling myself to stop being so paranoid … why do you care what people think … yada, yada. But it was a weak debate due to the lack of sleep and the distracting pain, so I ended up at the ER anyhow.

I walked in and looked around. It was remarkably unlike an episode Grey’s Anatomy. There were exactly three people waiting. I discreetly checked them out, but none of them showed any visible signs of injury and left me with nothing to gawk at. There were no knife stabbing victims, men with axes stuck in their head, women giving birth or people burnt beyond recognition. You can imagine my disappointment.

But Grey’s Anatomy hadn’t led me entirely astray. The male in-take nurse could substitute for McDreamy, so that at least was one thing to gawk at. And I eventually did get to see some blood, albeit my own. A nurse that was in training gave me an IV and let me tell you, it was a blood bath (with a lot of “sorry”s thrown in).

That’s where any mild connections to Grey’s Anatomy ended. While Seattle Grace has at least 5 doctors floating about the ER at all times, I didn’t see a single one until 11 am. I don’t know if this is a result of cost-cutting measures or because of doctor shortages or just a fluke of the particular day I arrived. Whatever the reason, it just felt strange. A bunch of us had been divvied out into different cubicles and I could see people wandering out looking confused or exasperated because they had been sitting in there so long. There were lots of nurses though, chit-chatting about cell phone features and trips to Thailand. Intermittently, they would tell those straying out of the cubicles that, “someone will be with you in a minute.” One nurse walked by and noticed me buckled over in pain and closed the door so I could have privacy. No one opened the door again until 11 am, so I could have been cold and stiff by then as far as they knew.

The person who opened the door was a doctor. This was good. She had the results of my blood and urine tests and they showed no signs of kidney stones. From here, my visit became more like an episode of House. It was a mystery to be solved — what was causing this woman’s abdominal pain? Except there was no secluded room with specialists debating my case and I didn’t have a rare, life-threatening illness. Other than those minor little things, exactly like House.

I’ll make a long story short here (because I don’t want to bore you silly and because Grey’s Anatomy is starting in exactly 8 minutes). After blood work, urine work, and two rounds of ultrasounds, there was no conclusive answer to what was causing my pain. Kidney stones got rules out. Gall stones got rules out. Urinary tract infection got ruled out. Flu got ruled out. Food poisoning got ruled out. And finally, appendicitis got ruled out too. However, unlike House, the patient simply packed up her stuff at 3 pm and hobbled her way back out to the parking lot.

Sure, the whole thing was a bit of an exercise in futility. But when faced with the looming onset of frustrated anger or self-pity, I ward it off with an old trick that works every time — I start to count every last one of my blessings that I have to be grateful for.

When I walked out of the ER, the place was packed. And I was grateful to be going home.

(Yes, I’m feeling much better now — thanks for asking!)