Sunday evening finds us back at the scene of the crime. After a phone call from Dana informing me that my mom was vomiting all day and the last time looked like blood through it, we decided to take her to the emergency room at HUP. We managed to get her dressed warmly and loaded into the minivan but she began vomiting blood again 2 minutes into the journey. Dana and I decided that we were not going to be able to make the 45 minute drive to HUP and would have to settle for our local hospital where she had been misdiagnosed 3 times before being transferred to HUP originally.
We arrived to an overflowing emergency department at approximately 7:00 pm and I explained my mom’s condition to the woman at the admissions desk. I told her that we came in that evening because my mom was vomiting blood and having some difficulty breathing. She put a name band on my mom’s wrist and told us to have a seat. This was not the response I was hoping for but we stood off to the side against the wall while I reminded myself that other people were just as sick as my mom and were entitled to care. As we waited a man came in pushing his wife in a wheelchair, she was vomiting and having some sort of seizure. The man explained to the admissions clerk that his wife was having some sort of reaction to a medication she took, she was given a name band and the man parked her wheelchair near my mom. My mom began vomiting again and the admission clerk asked us if we could move her further down the hall where other patients wouldn’t see her, as Dan started to move my mom’s wheelchair further into a hallway alcove the triage nurse called a girl with a sprained ankle and started attending to her.
“I don’t think so.” I told the admission clerk. “My mother is vomiting and can’t breathe and you are taking a patient with a twisted ankle? I don’t think you understand, I need a doctor now before my mother dies in your waiting room!” I pointed to the woman with the drug reaction, she had begun twitching and vomiting again “This woman should already be with a doctor!” The clerk asked me to calm down, but she did get on the phone and within seconds a triage nurse came to speak to my mom and a doctor came through the emergency doors to retrieve the woman with the drug reaction. As the automatic door was closing on their retreating figures the husband turned to me and nodded, his eyes were wild and frightened. I know the feeling that goes with that expression and I pray to God that all went well for him. Maybe my reaction was wrong, I mean, I am not a doctor so what the hell do I know. Every action is on instinct and I just wait for my brain to catch up, sometimes my instinct is correct and other times my brain catches up to tell me what an ass I am.
We spent the remainder of our evening explaining that PML stood for progressive multifocal leukoencephalopathy to the ER doctors and nurses who finally put a call in to Dr Schuster to discuss the case with him. I figure they got all they could from Google and were scrambling. After an extensive conversation with Dr Schuster the ER attending came in to tell us that upon Dr Schuster’s request, my mom would be admitted to our local hospital and transferred back to HUP as soon as a bed became available. A bed was brought in for my stepfather and Dana and I settled into the chairs provided to wait for mom to be moved from the emergency department to the telemetry unit on the 2nd floor.
Eighteen hours later my mom was still in the emergency department, Dana and I had refused to let the doctors perform an endoscopy on Dr Schuster’s advice and this brought us a considerable amount of attitude from the staff at our local hospital. At first I was surprised, I figured they would want her transferred out of their hospital because they were so unsure of how to treat her, but then I came to realize that it is almost like those cop shows where the local authorities get ticked off when the FBI steps in, it’s all a matter of having your toes stepped on. My mom’s nurse even came to inform me that Dr Schuster’s opinion was not the word of God.
We arrived to an overflowing emergency department at approximately 7:00 pm and I explained my mom’s condition to the woman at the admissions desk. I told her that we came in that evening because my mom was vomiting blood and having some difficulty breathing. She put a name band on my mom’s wrist and told us to have a seat. This was not the response I was hoping for but we stood off to the side against the wall while I reminded myself that other people were just as sick as my mom and were entitled to care. As we waited a man came in pushing his wife in a wheelchair, she was vomiting and having some sort of seizure. The man explained to the admissions clerk that his wife was having some sort of reaction to a medication she took, she was given a name band and the man parked her wheelchair near my mom. My mom began vomiting again and the admission clerk asked us if we could move her further down the hall where other patients wouldn’t see her, as Dan started to move my mom’s wheelchair further into a hallway alcove the triage nurse called a girl with a sprained ankle and started attending to her.
“I don’t think so.” I told the admission clerk. “My mother is vomiting and can’t breathe and you are taking a patient with a twisted ankle? I don’t think you understand, I need a doctor now before my mother dies in your waiting room!” I pointed to the woman with the drug reaction, she had begun twitching and vomiting again “This woman should already be with a doctor!” The clerk asked me to calm down, but she did get on the phone and within seconds a triage nurse came to speak to my mom and a doctor came through the emergency doors to retrieve the woman with the drug reaction. As the automatic door was closing on their retreating figures the husband turned to me and nodded, his eyes were wild and frightened. I know the feeling that goes with that expression and I pray to God that all went well for him. Maybe my reaction was wrong, I mean, I am not a doctor so what the hell do I know. Every action is on instinct and I just wait for my brain to catch up, sometimes my instinct is correct and other times my brain catches up to tell me what an ass I am.
We spent the remainder of our evening explaining that PML stood for progressive multifocal leukoencephalopathy to the ER doctors and nurses who finally put a call in to Dr Schuster to discuss the case with him. I figure they got all they could from Google and were scrambling. After an extensive conversation with Dr Schuster the ER attending came in to tell us that upon Dr Schuster’s request, my mom would be admitted to our local hospital and transferred back to HUP as soon as a bed became available. A bed was brought in for my stepfather and Dana and I settled into the chairs provided to wait for mom to be moved from the emergency department to the telemetry unit on the 2nd floor.
Eighteen hours later my mom was still in the emergency department, Dana and I had refused to let the doctors perform an endoscopy on Dr Schuster’s advice and this brought us a considerable amount of attitude from the staff at our local hospital. At first I was surprised, I figured they would want her transferred out of their hospital because they were so unsure of how to treat her, but then I came to realize that it is almost like those cop shows where the local authorities get ticked off when the FBI steps in, it’s all a matter of having your toes stepped on. My mom’s nurse even came to inform me that Dr Schuster’s opinion was not the word of God.
“How do you know? When was the last time you spoke to him?” I asked her
“Who—Dr Schuster?” she asked
“No,” I said “God. When was the last time you talked to God?” Being tired and scared puts my sarcasm level at an all time high, that nurse just paid the price of many sleepless nights and days full of worry. Once again, I am truly sorry if I offended her but sometimes you can’t shut your mouth fast enough to keep your foot out of it.
My mom was transferred to the telemetry unit of St Mary Medical Center late Monday afternoon. I actually had to Google the term to find out what a telemetry unit was so that Dana and I could stop referring to it as the “we have no idea what is wrong with you ward” of the hospital. It turns out that a hospital telemetry unit is a unit in a hospital where patients are under continuous electronic monitoring. Telemetry is the practice of sending electronic signals from one place to another; it allows hospital personnel to monitor heart rate, heart rhythm, breathing, and other things both by the patient's bed and at a remote location like a nursing station. I can see where this could be a useful tool for nurses to detect emergent medical issues before they become a problem, the only concern I have is that it takes a nurse at least 45 minutes to respond when my mom accidentally pulls of one of her heart monitor electrodes or when her IV line becomes occluded and the machine starts beeping.
The telemetry unit also means that your mom will be so full of ativan that she is totally unable to communicate with you until it wears off. After experiencing a day like this Dana and I decided that someone needed to be with her at all times and we had to inform the nursing staff that her intake of ativan should be limited. Rooms in the telemetry unit are not private which means Dan is unable to stay with my mom through the night as he has been since the onset of the disease. His absence causes my mom undue stress so Dan has taken to sleeping on the window ledge behind the curtains of my mom’s window, if he is discovered before morning he relents to the nurse and moves himself to the family waiting room down the hall with strict orders for the nurse to call him if my mom becomes agitated during the night. The overnight nurse is very nice and agrees to call Dan if anything occurs but her daytime nurse is another story, Dan has started referring to her as Nurse Ratchett. The patient in the next bed simply calls her lazy. My mom is developing a bad cough and you can hear the mucus in her chest. We were told on Monday that medication was ordered to dry some of that up, but she is yet to receive it.
The wait for a bed at HUP seems to stretch on for an eternity, as of Wednesday we are still watching the clock. We have received news from Dr Schuster that my mom’s tests have come back with the results we needed and the hospital review board should have their approval in by the end of the week. Hope springs eternal…
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