For reasons I'll leave with my family and close friends, I made a recent visit to the ER. Lenox Hill ER on the Upper East Side. I specifically chose this hospital because somewhere in my panicked subconscious I've heard they are the best in the city. Where did I get this conclusion? Jewish. East Side. Money. Expensive PR. They're near my doctor's office and I recently saw the nice new awning? I'm a sucker. You're a sucker. Wouldn't you like to be a sucker too?
We arrived at 10pm and I left the next morning at 7am. During that time I felt I got to know some folks at their most...honest.
For the first hour, we sat in a waiting room with two big, flat screen TV's both showing a Lakers VS. Nuggets game. More is new than just the awning. If the day prior you'd told me these two names were facing off in a game I might have said, "good for them...I don't watch much wrestling though..." As we sat there, I realized the few folks actively (and by actively I mean applauding and talking to the TV) watching the game were two teenage boys with snacks, two older gentlemen sitting together, a gentleman directly to Greg's right and the security guard who stayed past his shift to yell at the TV some more. I didn't mind the distraction except for how oddly important the TV became when the little girl sobbing at the top of her lungs was being passed back and forth between her parents. She was clearly in pain and her parents were clearly worried.
"Damn. Somebody put a bottle in that mouth." And as if he thought he were being funny he said it again and louder.
Dude. You're not at a sports bar.
The Security guard tried to wake up a woman telling her it was her turn. He jabbed her shoulder: "Hey! Wake up! They're calling you. Hey lady! They're calling you! Wake up!"
She did and very slowly, shuffled off in the direction he pointed obviously in need of some kind of help. I think we all were thinking mental help.
My name was called. We sit to register my reasons for being there. I'm asked the same question several times as I try to answer fast enough and watch the attendee typing incorrect information anyway. He's much too over worked and in a hurry. We surprisingly go directly to a bed...where there is another TV. We even have a remote and can flip through basic cable channels. We stick with cartoons mostly and regret we didn't bring our new
Battleship board game.
I over hear a tall, tanned, fed up male nurse talking to a doctor at the computer directly in front of me: "I mean come on. She's obviously in her 11th ----- and she's freaked and called ----- and I mean why send her here? She obviously ----. This place is amazing. I mean can you believe how stupid that is?"
The doctor looks around and tries to genuinely explain why one would come to the ER. He needs a massage. From a man.
My nurse is a tough looking woman with a strong face and nice long, grey-blonde hair. Lauren. She asks me some questions, appears interested and walks away. Another woman pops up from around the corner and asks for my insurance info. Nurse Lauren comes back and puts a huge needle in my arm that literally shoots blood across the sheets of my bed. She apologies and pulls the blanket over the spots then places cotton under the needle. It is immediately soaked and red. Here's where I think I'm a tough chic. Blood and needles have never bothered me. I can even handle a significant amount of pain as long as I KNOW what is going on. I think fear is what drives many folks to the doctor and especially the Emergency Room. And I think fear is what is killing us. How do you turn it off?
I'm poked and prodded all night. More blood, more pee, more samples. I have a doctor take me for testing and I literally hear the angst in her first question. I crack a joke and tell her exactly what I think is wrong and try to sound like I'm not scared. She lightens up and connects briefly. After several hours, I have another doctor, cute, small, female, half my age, tell me in very monotone, over explained sentences that basically I'm fine. Not normal but I'll live. I CANNOT WAIT to get what now feels like a tree stuck in my vein OUT OF MY ARM. I overhear yet another patient complain and call out demands to Nurse Lauren. She quickly responds: "Just a minute. Let me finish what I am doing. There are many people in here just as sick or more sick than you. What's that? Whatever. Forget it. You just wait a minute."
These conversations went on all night. And she would always go back to them with a stern, quick scolding but give them good, kind care. A blanket. More drugs. Even the crazy ones: "I'm not laughing at your cat scan. Why would I laugh at your cat scan? Just sit tight and the doctor will be with you. There are a lot of sick people in here."
Nurse Lauren comes over to me and asks where Greg is. "He went home to free our little dog once we found out I wasn't dying... well not immediately as far as we know... I guess we are all actually dying everyday, right?" She pulls out the torture device in the crook of my dominant arm. I can bend it again. I'm reminded of photo ops I see on TV where baseball players stand next to a 'sick child's bed'. How must it feel to have the thinking of an active child and have the body of a disease riddled skeleton strapped in the white blah that is the hospital? I make a mental note to thank God for my health and hope I'll do something for a stranger stuck in a hospital bed some day.
"Can you believe these people? Don't you feel sorry for me?" I laugh with Nurse Lauren and am struck by her honesty. Her eyes weren't kidding. She has a tough job and I think could use a kind hand and stern voice telling her not to be afraid. Everything is fine. Maybe not normal but you're living.
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