We
got to experience a German emergency room this week. It’s not as bad as it
sounds. Or as bad as it looks in this photo.
The only other time I can recall being in an
emergency room was in Bozeman, MT after my car accident. But that time really
was an emergency. I remember they had to cut my ring off my hand with a saw. It was my favorite turtle ring. The cutting took some time because they had to be so
careful. My hand was torn up, it had been flung out my window as the car rolled and needed to be sewn back together. That
was 25 years ago. Wow.
But back to present day. Going to the emergency
room was a last resort for getting my pain med prescription refilled. We had
tried several online video calls with doctors, and put in several requests for
in-person doctor visits. We even went to a neurologist's office. To no avail. An
appointment with the neurologist was no sooner than February 2026. I had been
told to try the emergency room, if all else failed.
So, we went to the closer north branch hospital
even though the further one did have a neurology department. It was quite
difficult to get to the hospital with a neurology department, so I suggested we
try the closer one first to see if maybe they could help us. In hindsight, it
probably would have been worth the hassle to get to the south branch.
We had to use the Ubahn to get to the north hospital. Once we got to the hospital campus,
we started to examine the map to try to find the emergency room. A grounds
keeper drove up and stopped his utility truck and asked if he could help us, in
German of course. Stephen replied to him in English and he got out of his truck and walked
over to the map. He started to show us how to get to the emergency room but
then stopped, looked over at me, smiled and said, “Sorry for my English.” I
replied, “no worries!” In very limited English, he showed us on the map and
pointed to the building in front of us and we got the gist of where we needed
to go. I thanked him in German, “Danke, vielen danke” Thank you, thank you very
much! And he smiled at my German.
We found the emergency room straight away and I
went to the counter to request that I see someone.
It wasn’t long before a nurse called my name and
we went to an exam room. I explained my situation and then he took my vitals.
My blood pressure was 175/105! I was pretty clearly in distress...too much
pain. And I had even taken my blood pressure medicine that morning. He took
some notes, entered information into the computer, and then sent us to wait to
see “administration”.
Our number was called and we went into the office.
Evidently, they were going to help me out because I was asked to sign that I
agreed to “treatment” and we paid a fee. A pretty steep fee, it seemed to me, but
then we don’t have German insurance. We were asked to wait again.
I thought things were going pretty well when a
nurse called my name and then told me she wanted to draw blood. This is almost always
a challenge so right away I was nervous. There wasn’t a room or a station, like
I’m used to in the states. I looked at my arms and I could actually see some
veins, quite often they are just hidden. I commented that at least we could see
the veins today but the nurse said, “Yes, but they are so tiny.” She did the
usual thing of squishing around on my arm trying to find something that might
work. But no. It was then to my right hand. That’s been a successful place in
the past.
Thankfully this nurse didn’t mess around. It wasn’t
comfortable but then she said, “Gluck. I don’t know what that means in English.”
“Happy?” I said. That is one translation. I looked it up later and maybe she
meant something like “We’re in luck.” One poke and she got several vials
filled. I had to support my hand and I tensed up my whole body to get through
what is, as a general rule, an ordeal for me. In less than a minute, she had
filled 4 vials and was done. I relaxed. All the tension in my body dissipated and
it wasn’t until that moment that I realized just how anxious I had been. But
then there was a plot twist. She had a syringe in her hand and she said to me, “This
is just water.” She meant “saline” and even at the time I knew that’s probably what
she meant but my lizard brain heard “water” and I was like, “What is this???
What is this strange thing she’s going to do???” All my past experiences in
hospitals rushed into my psyche all at once and suddenly I was dizzy and faint.
Stephen was standing behind me and I said, “I might pass out.” He came close
and supported my shoulders. I was sitting in my wheelchair. Then I said, “I
have to get my head down or I’m going to pass out.” And I tried to lean forward
but I had my purse in my lap and it was hard to get my head down enough. I was
fighting to stay conscious. I heard Stephen talking to me and I tried to speak
but my mouth felt like it was full of taffy and I struggled to form words. I
kind of just made garbled noises until finally I was able to ask the nurse for
water. She was eager to get something, do anything to help me.
I looked over and there was a hospital bed beside
me. How did that get there? When did that get there? Turns out I had passed-out.
And Stephen told me a little later that I was out for about 2 minutes! That’s a
super long time to be unconscious. I’ve passed out a lot in my life, but never
for such a long time. Now, I really did need to be in the emergency room! The
nurse kept asking me, “Does this happen to you a lot?” It was really hard to
come out of the fog. My body had shut down quite a lot. But finally I was able
to tell her, “Yes, I pass out when I have my blood drawn. Or sometimes when I
get a shot.”
It's not unusual, but honestly I’ve spent quite a
lot of energy and effort trying to effectively deal with my needle phobia. It’s
been a long time since I’ve passed out. I’ve
been in a lot of hospitals and clinics and seen a lot of phlebotomists in the
last 15 years, since being diagnosed with Lupus. Most of the time I manage
quite well.
What I thought was going to be just a talking
appointment with a doctor where she would evaluate my records and then give me
the prescription I needed, turned into hours of tests from a hospital bed behind
a curtain in an emergency room bay.
After about 4 hours of tests and waiting, a doctor
came to talk to me. But when I confirmed my name to her in English, she turned
right around. A med-student then returned and said she was there because she
could speak English. More questions, a pretty extensive interview, and then she
left. She couldn’t make decisions about things, only gather information.
Finally, the doctor who could make decisions came
to my bed. “I’m afraid I can’t really do anything for you. I can't fill your prescription. That's not what we do.”
WHAT? I was instantly angry. I had endured all of
this and I WASN’T going get my prescription. I only passed out because the
nurse drew blood. And for what? It’s very unpleasant to pass out. “Why didn’t
anyone say this at the beginning???” I did not hide my anger. None of this was
necessary. The nurses caused me to go through a pretty terrible afternoon. And
I wasn’t even going to get what I needed!
At first the med student and the doctor repeated
some lines that were frankly lame and infuriating. But after hearing more of my
story, my situation, in the end they did their best and gave me a couple of
days worth of my prescription and a letter to take to any general practitioner near our apartment.
Stephen and I thought moving to a first-world
country would mean everything was easier compared to the developing-world
countries we’ve lived in. But that’s not exactly been the case. No matter where
we go, every country has its challenges to navigate. And healthcare is particularly
tricky.
When we finally left the hospital after 6pm, we
decided to go to one of my favorite little cafés and get dinner. It’s really a
breakfast place and I had eggs benedict and a cappuccino.
It’s funny how perspective changes my mood. After
going through the ordeal at the hospital, dinner out felt especially great.
There was a lightness to my mood. And it occurred to me that really the German people
are so eager and willing to help me. In the restaurant for example, when I rolled
me wheelchair to the restroom door, the man sitting next to it offered to help.
I glanced at him then I put the brakes on my wheelchair, stood up and, using
the wall for support, walked through the door. Just as I was about the close
the door, I looked back at him and said, “Danke,” and smiled. I showed him,
proudly, that I could do it myself. Still he had jumped right up when I rolled
to the door and jumped up again when I exited the restroom. No hesitation. And
this is one example of many. Every time we go anywhere, people offer to help.
The day ended on an upbeat. Even though,
objectively, I should have been upset. Things hadn’t gone at all to plan. My
pain is bad and I need pain meds to manage it. This “flare” is lasting so much
longer than my first Lupus flare. But I’m determined to recover. My MS type is
that kind where I can go into “remission”. It doesn’t have to get worse. But it
depends on me. Boy! That’s both hopeful and a burden. It’s sometimes a really bumpy
ride.
But I guess that means I’m alive.
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