Saturday, February 04, 2006
Admission: aren't hospitals supposed to make you feel better?
Brian contacted Lita to let her know what was going on and that getting to my radiation appointments was going to be a problem. She wanted to get me admitted to the care of radiation oncology, but to do that I'd need to come through the Emergency Room at U of M since the prospect of doing any normal kind of transportation was out of the question.
The trouble with my Westland apartment is that Westland is smack dab in the middle of Oakwood hospital territory. Local ambulances were going to want to take me somewhere nearby. EMS people who normally deliver to U of M are not going to want to travel all the way to Westland to pick somebody up. After no small amount of calling different EMS companies, Brian found one that was willing to go out of the way.
The EMS people came and discussed how to get me out of the apartment, and ended up getting help from the local fire department. The trick was going to be moving me over onto the body board, which didn't quite fit around the corner from the bedroom to the hallway, so they were going to have to tilt it sideways. (They did a draft run before loading me up.) The other problem was that I was completely unable to scootch myself over from the bed to the board, so they were going to have to manhandle me over. There was some discussion about whether or not to just take the sheets, which caused me to panic unreasonably since I love those sheets, which have a very high thread count. Finally I think they got a sheet of their own and jiggled me on one side then the other (not pleasant), and then moved me on the heave of three, which was awful, I saw stars, and whimpered from the agony.
Agony. It's a word I will probably use a lot. I think it might come across as hyperbole, but I do not exaggerate.
Being tilted sideways was not only painful, but it was frightening as well. I was strapped down fairly well, but couldn't help worrying that I would fall off the board. The EMS people tried fairly hard to keep me level on the stairs, which I appreciated, and when we got outside they were able to move me to a stretcher. It was snowing, and I thought of the poem recited by Joy Gresham in Shadowlands where she talks about soldiers seeing "..with unwounded eye/For once a gentle thing/Fall from the sky."
In the emergency van they hooked me up, loaded me with drugs to keep me from feeling too much during the trip, and took me to Ann Arbor.
I think I was probably in the Emergency area for a long time, but I don't really know. What I remember most is having to go to be X-rayed, where I felt that the technicians wanted to cause me unreasonable pain. In order to get good films of my hip, they tried to do a "through-shot" which involved lifting one leg and trying to take the X-ray under the leg. Brian had to help hold the leg up, since I just couldn't do it. Then they decided that wasn't good enough and insisted I be turned on my side. I insisted they not do it, but I lost out. When they turned me, I actually screamed. I decided X-rays were bad, tests were bad, and I didn't want to ever have any more. Moving to and from the X-ray table and the transport gurney were also bad. It seems to be impossible for four to six people to keep legs and hips and shoulders and everything else lined up while moving a body. To somebody with a broken pelvis, this means that being moved is going to cause hideous pain.
After deciding, "yup, she has a broken pelvis" and "yup, she can't get around without severe assistance" and "yup, her vitals are a bit screwey and need to be watched," I was admitted to the hospital proper. At this point, more tests were warranted since I had abdominal tenderness, and the doctors were concerned I might be in the midst of some kind of spleen/gallbladder issue, so they wanted to send me down for an ultrasound, at which point I began to cry, which hurt my hip.
The nurse was livid, and told me I didn't have to go if I didn't want to. She told the doctors so.
I don't have to go? Cool! So I refused to let them transport me--which I had already decided was evil and unbearably painful, what with being tossed around like a sack of potatoes--for something I wasn't convinced I had.
So the doctors came to me and said the test was vitally important, and they had a portable scanner they could use.
If they had a portable scanner, why couldn't they propose using that on someone who finds moving to be insupportibly agonizing? Grrrrr... Incidentally, when they did bring the portable scanner (which the technicians complained about no end--apparently it doesn't do everything automatically like their shiny new stationary equipment down in the ultrasound area; poor babies), they had another stop on my floor anyway.
Having the test required no food or drink, which led to my next lesson in Life in the Hospital: shift changes can result in some incredible stupidity.
To be continued...
The trouble with my Westland apartment is that Westland is smack dab in the middle of Oakwood hospital territory. Local ambulances were going to want to take me somewhere nearby. EMS people who normally deliver to U of M are not going to want to travel all the way to Westland to pick somebody up. After no small amount of calling different EMS companies, Brian found one that was willing to go out of the way.
The EMS people came and discussed how to get me out of the apartment, and ended up getting help from the local fire department. The trick was going to be moving me over onto the body board, which didn't quite fit around the corner from the bedroom to the hallway, so they were going to have to tilt it sideways. (They did a draft run before loading me up.) The other problem was that I was completely unable to scootch myself over from the bed to the board, so they were going to have to manhandle me over. There was some discussion about whether or not to just take the sheets, which caused me to panic unreasonably since I love those sheets, which have a very high thread count. Finally I think they got a sheet of their own and jiggled me on one side then the other (not pleasant), and then moved me on the heave of three, which was awful, I saw stars, and whimpered from the agony.
Agony. It's a word I will probably use a lot. I think it might come across as hyperbole, but I do not exaggerate.
Being tilted sideways was not only painful, but it was frightening as well. I was strapped down fairly well, but couldn't help worrying that I would fall off the board. The EMS people tried fairly hard to keep me level on the stairs, which I appreciated, and when we got outside they were able to move me to a stretcher. It was snowing, and I thought of the poem recited by Joy Gresham in Shadowlands where she talks about soldiers seeing "..with unwounded eye/For once a gentle thing/Fall from the sky."
In the emergency van they hooked me up, loaded me with drugs to keep me from feeling too much during the trip, and took me to Ann Arbor.
I think I was probably in the Emergency area for a long time, but I don't really know. What I remember most is having to go to be X-rayed, where I felt that the technicians wanted to cause me unreasonable pain. In order to get good films of my hip, they tried to do a "through-shot" which involved lifting one leg and trying to take the X-ray under the leg. Brian had to help hold the leg up, since I just couldn't do it. Then they decided that wasn't good enough and insisted I be turned on my side. I insisted they not do it, but I lost out. When they turned me, I actually screamed. I decided X-rays were bad, tests were bad, and I didn't want to ever have any more. Moving to and from the X-ray table and the transport gurney were also bad. It seems to be impossible for four to six people to keep legs and hips and shoulders and everything else lined up while moving a body. To somebody with a broken pelvis, this means that being moved is going to cause hideous pain.
After deciding, "yup, she has a broken pelvis" and "yup, she can't get around without severe assistance" and "yup, her vitals are a bit screwey and need to be watched," I was admitted to the hospital proper. At this point, more tests were warranted since I had abdominal tenderness, and the doctors were concerned I might be in the midst of some kind of spleen/gallbladder issue, so they wanted to send me down for an ultrasound, at which point I began to cry, which hurt my hip.
The nurse was livid, and told me I didn't have to go if I didn't want to. She told the doctors so.
I don't have to go? Cool! So I refused to let them transport me--which I had already decided was evil and unbearably painful, what with being tossed around like a sack of potatoes--for something I wasn't convinced I had.
So the doctors came to me and said the test was vitally important, and they had a portable scanner they could use.
If they had a portable scanner, why couldn't they propose using that on someone who finds moving to be insupportibly agonizing? Grrrrr... Incidentally, when they did bring the portable scanner (which the technicians complained about no end--apparently it doesn't do everything automatically like their shiny new stationary equipment down in the ultrasound area; poor babies), they had another stop on my floor anyway.
Having the test required no food or drink, which led to my next lesson in Life in the Hospital: shift changes can result in some incredible stupidity.
To be continued...
Labels: Brian, EMS, hip, hospital, Lita, radiation, ultrasound, Westland, x-rays
