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For the first time, I do not feel safe! With this feeling comes a sense of panic. I dislike this feeling! I am in an ancient, small, stuffy ER room with a patient nearby groaning and moaning, clearly in distress. I do not hold this against him, but this is not helpful. I have walked or transported through these hallways multiple times. Most of the staff are wearing masks. Most have gloves, but wonder when they were last replaced and exactly where have they been? The IV that was poorly placed in my left arm (my dominate arm) at the inner elbow joint that hurts every time I bend my arm. (Side bar: the reason, I find out later, is this is the easiest place for a tech to place an IV, and ER uses this spot to expedite this procedure.) I have informed the doctor and nurses that at home I use a CPAP machine because without it; I stop breathing. They will provide oxygen to support my ability to breathe, which they do eventually provide. You know, the tubes they stick in your nose to provide a source of oxygen. AND no TV, which for those who know me (my wife) I leave on overnight to help me sleep. That’s another story for another day. Finally, they wire me for sound, attaching a heart monitor with another mile or so of leads. Now, I am told to rest. They said this with a straight face. They were serious.
Flat lay on my back (I am side sleeper) staring at the ceiling and listening to hospital sounds. Beep, beep, beep, beep, from down the hallway. And, out of sync, more beep, beep, beep, beeps up the hallway, etc. Arm hurts. Back hurts. Butt hurts. I have not eaten for hours. Once concerned, then irritated, now just pissed off. Again, why am I here? I feel fine! Currently using a great deal of energy, maintaining, holding back panic while trying to relax. My phone is powerless, my watch is now powerless, and I feel powerless.
There is a clock on the wall that appears stuck. I close my eyes, breathe, open my eyes and check out the clock, which advanced two minutes. Let me be perfectly clear - there is no way in hell I am sleeping! I move, trying to roll to my side. The IV hurts and the heart monitor disconnects and adds to the concert of beeping, beep noises. The nurse arrives soon to reconnect me.
I guess I have laid there, eyes wide-open, absorbing the ambiance, when enters stage right, the nurse. (As I write this, it may appear I am trying to make light of this situation, but I assure you I was not feeling pleased.) “We have a room for you!”
“Hooray!” I reply quietly.
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