A Scared Little Girl With A Rubber Duck

I had started to feel so much better yesterday afternoon and evening. I was alternating between sitting at the computer and sitting on my ottoman, leaning towards my TV, watching CNN's live coverage of the rescue of the Chilean miners. When the first man came up, I cried and said, "Muy bien, Chile. Muy bien."

I stayed up a little late. The night before I had taken NyQuil but still slept poorly, waking often because it seemed that when lying down, whatever I had in my chest seemed to shift, making breathing more difficult than it already was. So last night I set some pillows up on the couch and propped myself up a little, wrapped in my comforter--and immediately started feeling that suffocating feeling of everything shifting in my chest. I darted up from the sofa, hoping that being upright again would help. It did, but my heart was pounding and my breathing had become gasping and painful. I thought I might be having a panic attack along with whatever ailed me. I calmed myself down a little and started calling area urgent care clinics. All were closed. It was nearing two in the morning, so one option was left: the emergency room.

The last time I visited an emergency room was in 1981, when the shopping cart I was riding in tipped over while Aaron ran with it. I had a broken leg, a hospital stay, and surgery. Mom still can't talk about it. Obviously, I don't remember much about that ordeal, so last night was pretty new and very, very scary.

As I pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt, I thought of what else I might need. It was cool outside, so I grabbed a sweater. I grabbed my book, knowing that I might have to wait a while. And as I passed the kitchen, I grabbed a small rubber duck that has been sitting on my computer hutch for a few days. It's an inside joke I have with some friends--his name is Mr. Swimmy and it's all very silly and crazy. But as I prepared to go to the hospital, alone, scared, with my parents half a world away, I impulsively grabbed Mr. Swimmy and shoved him in my purse.

I arrived at the hospital a little after 2:00. I went to the window and gasped out my name and address to the lady there. I only sat in the waiting room for about 15 minutes before being called back by the first of many nurses. He took my information and vitals, said (kind of snidely) "Oh, you're not going to like getting your bill, then" when I mentioned that I'm recently laid off and uninsured (thanks a lot, dude, let's ADD to my stress, shall we?). I had a low-grade fever and my blood pressure was up a little from stress.

He handed me a cup and said, "We'll need a urine sample," then guided me over to the part of the ER where you have to scan a badge to get in. He showed me to the bathroom and pointed out the bed I'd be occupying just across the hallway. I did my thing and was then instructed to take my shirt and bra off and put the gown on. I left my jeans and shoes on.

Another nurse came in and put one of those pulse monitors on my right index finger. She took my blood pressure a second time. A doctor came in and started rapidly firing questions, theories and "I want to's" at me. They had a cup of my urine. He wanted to take some blood, get a chest x-ray, and he started going on about some other things. I said, "Um. I'm uninsured. I lost my job this year. I'm...kind of worried about how much this is going to cost, and I'm getting a little scared."

He slowed down. He said, "I won't be so aggressive, then. I do need to do the blood test and the chest x-ray, though, to make sure your lungs are okay. I'm worried about blood clots, too, because you're a normally healthy young woman who suddenly couldn't breathe. Normally it's cold, then a cough, then difficulty breathing, over a period of days or even weeks."

I agreed with this--it came on so suddenly. The first nurse had said, "Sounds like bronchitis to me" but of course, it's not his job to diagnose.

A respiratory doctor came down from his department and started me on a mask that helped me breathe in Albuterol. It's a steroid, and almost immediately I could feel relief in my chest. I breathed as deeply as I could, and each breath came easier. The mucous that I thought I'd been fighting with Mucinex started to truly break up and go away.

I sat there for a long time. I had been hooked up to a heart monitor--the little things they stick to your chest and then clip wires to, like jump-starting a car battery. I also had a blood pressure cuff that took my BP every 30 minutes. Every once in a while the monitor that showed my heart rate would beep loudly and a red light would flash. No one came to check on me. I found out later that this happened when I moved my index finger monitor too much.

And in one hand, as I sat there, alone, I had Mr. Swimmy, hidden from anyone else's view.

At one point a new nurse came in and took some blood. I read my book and occasionally took Mr. Swimmy out to hold in my hand. I've never felt so alone. With Mom and Dad in Asia, my closest close friend in Oakland, my brother in Idaho...I have local friends but I also have this, "Oh, I don't want to bug them" mentality. I should have known better. Already one friend from Chorale has told me I should have called her, because she would have come to sit with me.

Finally, the Albuterol was finished, and it was time for my chest x-ray. The x-ray guy came and helped unhook me from the gadgets and wires.

After the x-ray, it was back to my bed. Within a few minutes the ER doctor was back. "Everything's clear," he said. "Your chest x-ray looks great, your blood work is clean. It's got to be asthmatic bronchitis." I was given two prescriptions (one for an inhaler to use if I need it, one for an antibiotic) and my discharge papers.

By 5:00 I was back in my car, heading home.

It took me an hour-and-a-half to settle down. One side effect of the Albuterol is a racing heart. Mine was going like I'd just run a few miles. I was exhausted, but also keyed up. I emailed my friend Summer, and sent a quick message to my friend Maayan. I started an email to Mom and Dad.

Then I trashed it.

Here's the thing. On the one hand, I'm a 32-year-old independent woman. I'm getting by with a little help from Mom and Dad in these lean times, but mostly I'm doing okay on my own. My rent is paid, my bills are paid. My car is paid off and running well.

On the other hand, right now, I feel like a scared little girl who takes a rubber duck to the emergency room in the middle of the night because she's scared, alone, and doesn't know quite what to do.

Now that I've slept a few hours (I desperately need more but I've got to get over to WalMart for the meds), I've emailed my parents. I tried to keep it simple and I even wrote, in all caps, "DO NOT WORRY ABOUT ME." I'm so afraid that they're going to spend the last week of their trip worried about how I'll pay for this, worried about me, worried, worried, worried. And that makes me feel guilty, and as though all I bring to them is expense and worry.

As I got in my car this morning to come home, I thought with a small laugh of what my dad said when he first saw me: "I'll go broke; she's beautiful."

There's hope. I've left a message with the hospital's financial advisor. I hope to find that I'm eligible for something--anything--that will assist me in covering the costs from this morning. Maybe there's a loophole that makes me eligible for MediCal. Maybe I'm eligible for the discounts the hospital offers those who need them. At the very least, I can get on a payment plan. I'm adamantly opposed to running to Mom and Dad for help, feeling that I need to do this. 

Anyway, this is rambling. I'm so tired. I need to get those prescriptions filled so I can get home and rest. I think, in lieu of napping this afternoon, I'll just go to bed really, really early and let my body sleep. I find it hard to sleep for long periods of time during the day. To cheer myself up, I'll buy a blue raspberry Slurpee on my outing. I think I deserve it.