This was after 16 years, I am on the bed, now being named
Bed# 7 without my knowledge.
Few minutes ago I had a name: Dr K. The shortened version of
the tongue twister for the staff.
Bed#7 had insurance card checked, the resident with the last
name reminding me of a luxury car came and looked at the monitor.
She took a stethoscope and listened to my bare chest through
the hospital gown.
“How are you feeling Doc?”
“OK I guess”.
“We are getting some labs and EKG…do you need anything else?”
“No. thanks”.
“I will get you some Nitrate”. She walked away.
I realized that she never checked my abdomen, or other systems.
If I was her examiner, she clearly failed.
This is the only
person checked me in the ED.
How sure that she is right in her diagnosis?
Next time they tell me that the patient’s examination is
totally normal, I know what to think.
The lady lying next to me pulled the partition curtain and
asked,”Do you know Dr. Stevens?”
“No, Ma’am; you can ask the nurses.”
“How long I have to wait?”
“I don’t know Ma’am, the nurses might know”. I closed my
eyes.
Probably my patients in the clinic are being rescheduled, or
seen by the PA.
The chest pain started last night around 9 PM. Now it is 11
AM.
It was not changing in character with breathing. It stayed as a heavy
weight on my left chest.
Since I survived, it is both good news and bad news.
I pulled my phone out of clip and texted my wife telling that
I am in the ED and OK. She should be relieved that I went with her plan.
She is working in the research building; unless she is busy
at work, will be here within 10 minutes of walking.
She was insisting last night that I should go to the ED to
get this checked.
The pain made me wake up from sleep few times.
Technician came with a push cart.
“Hi, I am here to do your EKG. Please tell me your name,
date of birth”.
I told her.
“Oh I am not going to pronounce that..!” She said with a
smile.
It was fast.
I could not see the EKG.
She removed the leads, and quickly took the page.
“Ok; I am
done; the doctors will talk to you soon”
“Ok; thanks”.
“You welcome Sir”.
Then the lady with gold and grey hair came.
She is wearing a
nursing uniform with some flower patterns. She must be a PCT (Patient care
tech).
She had a clipboard in her hand covering the ID hanging on her neck.
.
“What is your bed number?”
“I don’t know, I think it is 7, probably, you can see it on
the top outside, can’t you?, I said pointing to the curtain rods.
“State your last name and date of birth” The lady said with
the machine voice, looking at her clip board, holding the pen in the hand,
pressed against the paper.
I did as I was told.
“How much is your pain on a 0-10 scale?” the machine voice.
Then I realized; I have to quantify a feeling.
All these years, I wrote down the numbers given by patients;
their headaches, boiled to arithmetic. Not binary.
Now I have to measure it.
Is it bad that a
grown up man will be crying, or it is mild that I don’t give a damn, or in
between that I will tell my wife?
Yes; I did tell my wife last night.
Yes, I did tell my division director when he came to my room
in the morning with a copy of New Yorker, to show the write up he was talking about
the treasures of a Kerala Temple.
He immediately instructed staff to cancel my morning
patients and to go to the ED.
“This is their payback time; they call you to take care of
their patients; it now their chance to pay you back”, he said.
It was true.
As soon as I entered the ED and told the ED
director that I have chest pain, he directed his staff to get me a bed and get
things done fast.
I still have the nagging pain.
Should I give a 4, 5 or even 7?
I don’t know.
I paused to think.
The lady got impatient.
“How much is your pain?”
“May be 5 or 6”, I said with a smile.
The lady had no fun.
She yelled angrily,” What is it? Is it 5 or a 6? You have to
give me ‘a’ number”.
I laughed in my mind thinking of the absurdities of life and…death.
Does it matter?
Will I get Morphine if it is 5, or get a
stent if 6?, 10 means I will be on the way to the unknown part of the universe
where my energy from neural networks fuse with the cosmic dust?
“You can write 5 or 6, it does not matter really, I said.
“No that is not possible; you have to give me the number.
The clipboard lady was insistent.
She was possibly a math teacher in her previous life.
She knew that I have failed.
I was wasting her time.
She would’ve
had her mission for bed numbers 10 or 15 completed by this time.
“Then write 5”; I said, with some irritation.
The lady moved to the next bed; I heard her asking the same
question.
“What is your pain?”
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