All's Well That Ends Well

It all started with a mild chest pain.

Seriously. Mild. On the industry-standard pain scale of 1 to 10, it rated a 1. Like, if it were any less painful, it wouldn't be a pain at all. It'd be, I dunno, like a mild curiosity about what I might have for dinner.

(Turkey and cheese sandwich? Soup? Sushi? The possibilities are endless... and painless!)

Anyway. Mild or not, demographics being what they are, I call the Advice Nurse. She asks me all sorts of questions:

Nurse: Are you experiencing shortness of breath?
Me: No.
Nurse: Dizziness? Nausea? Vomiting?
Me: No.
Nurse: Any previous history of heart trouble?
Me: No.
Nurse: Can you describe the pain on a scale of One to Ten, with Ten being the worst?
Me: Two. No, One.

By the time she was done, I was pretty much expecting "take two aspirin and call in the morning".

But no.

"Well, demographics being what they are, you should go ahead and come in to the ER, just in case."

So into the ER I go. Check in. Sit down. Observe all the people around me, all with their various troubles. My name gets called. Nurse sits me down. Asks me the same questions. No. No. No. Still just a mild pain. They hook me up to a couple robots. Take my blood pressure, heartbeat, and an EKG. The usual. Everything looks pretty good, but they make me wait some more.

Call me back in. This time, it's chest x-rays.

Then more waiting.

Then they call me in again, for blood tests. Six vials' worth. This time, I got up the courage to actually look at the procedure, and discovered I had all sorts of questions. "Why doesn't my blood spray out when you remove the vial?" "What's that yellow plug at the bottom of the vial?" Etc. Incidentally, I love people who like to explain their work. Fascinating stuff.

Then more waiting.

Then even more waiting.

Then even more waiting.

It gets to the point where I'm starting to wonder how cool it would be if paramedics raced up in an ambulance, with some guy on a gurney, all like "stat!" and "fifty cc's!". Just to liven things up a little bit.

Then it gets to the point where I'm feeling guilty for wishing things would liven up a bit, on account of this lady starts seizing (seizuring?) right there in the ER waiting room. (Note to self, don't wish for other people's misfortune, unless you're willing to man up when your wishes come true.)

Actually, it was pretty interesting. Everybody sitting near the seizing lady freaked out. Started calling to the desk nurse for help, etc. After a moment or two, one of the duty nurses wandered out into the waiting room, glanced at the seizing lady (by this time supported by three other patients), and wandered back into the ER. After another moment or two, the nurse and a doctor wandered back out, strolled over to the poor lady, got her up onto a gurney, and rolled her casually back into the ER.

The whole thing seemed really casual, but it all took less than a minute. At first I was a little peeved that the medical staff seemed so nonchalant and unmotivated about this. Then I got to thinking...

They must see all kinds of crises all the time. Seizing ladies? At least one a day. So they probably know what's up, what to do, how to handle it. It all began to make sense. The duty nurse came out, evaluated the situation, and reported back to the doctor. The doctor came out, took charge. And nobody ran, nobody shouted. None of the hospital staff caused any more commotion than necessary--which turned out to be none at all.

Anyway.

More waiting.

And then more waiting.

And then even more waiting.

It got to the point where I'm wrestling with myself: Do I want to be one of those jerks who pesters an overworked duty nurse about "when's gonna be my time!" and whatnot, stuff she can't possibly have any control over? Or do I suck it up, and wait for however much longer it's gonna take? (Seriously, by this time it's been three hours since they drew my blood and sent it over to the lab for testing.)

Finally I get up and go to the duty nurse. She sees me coming, and immediately apologizes for my wait. She goes and gets my chart, lets me know it's going to be about another 20 minutes, and then I'll get to see a doctor about this mild chest pain.

Forty minutes later, I get called again.

Back we go. Off with the clothes, on with the gown. Nurse comes by and hooks me up to another robot, for more EKG readings. Puts oxygen up my nose. Preps an IV (more questions and answers there). Leaves the curtains open so I can see out of the bay, into the main work area, all the stuff that's going on. My wait time starts to make sense--it's busy back here!

The doctor shows up. Again with the questions. No. No. No. What about blood tests? Got the blood tests already. Good, good. What about X-rays? Got the X-rays already. Good, good. I have to take this page, then I'm going to look at your X-rays, then I'll be right back.

She goes off to return the call from her pager. "Yes, we're really busy. No, really busy. Yes, you can do that, but I can't guarantee they'll be seen right away. Yes, we're really busy."

Doctor comes back. Demographics being what they are, they have to check to see if I've had a heart attack. But... nothing in my description of the pain is consistent with a heart attack. My X-rays came back pristine. "You have a very attractive chest cavity," she tells me. Blood work? Also clean.

Which leaves, as pretty much the only reasonable diagnosis, lupus.

No, wait. It's never lupus.

What it is, says the doctor, is probably minor inflammation of the joints in the chest wall. And the fix for that is... extra-strength Ibuprofen for a few weeks, and follow up with my primary care physician.

The End.