I have never been a very good patient.
This
level of self-awareness is not new to me.
No
one enjoys being sick, but I may well be a bit more recalcitrant than most.
Part of that is because I’m pretty active; being sick means that I necessarily
have to interrupt my active routine. Part of it is because I’ve spent lots of
time being a caregiver; being a care-receiver is still somewhat awkward for me. And, part of it is that I like to enjoy my down time, which is rather hard to do when one is feeling terrible.
And
so, on Sunday, when I got a little too warm in the middle of our worship service
(Okay…maybe more than a little…layers of vestments do produce quite a bit of
heat…), and a couple of wonderful physicians in our parish were giving me very worried
looks – one insisting that a visit to the emergency room was in order because my heart rate
was a bit high (Well, yes, I’m sure my heart was racing, since we actually stopped
the service for my little “episode.” How do you spell, EMBARRASSED?!) – I was not pleased about the prospect of being a patient,
but I was compliant. If something really were wrong, I didn’t want my own stubborn
refusal to be a cooperative patient to lead to my demise.
So
off we went to the ER.
I learned a very important lesson: Never walk into an ER and say the word “heart”
in any context unless you are actively having a heart attack. Never. Really.
If
you say the word “heart” and you are not actually having a heart attack, you may well have
one by the time the dedicated medical professionals get done putting you
through your paces: EKGs, chest x-rays, blood work, and goodness knows what
else. My husband and our younger daughter observed that every time members of
this outstanding medical team came in to ask me about my chest pains (Huh? I
never said anything about chest pains!), my heart rate would climb all over
again. And since all of this excitement
kept my heart rate up for quite some time, the next thing I knew, a cardiologist
(who, by the way, was absolutely wonderful) was standing over me suggesting a
heart catheterization the next morning as a precaution.
And
that meant, of course, that I was staying overnight. In a hospital. Something
that I’d only previously done when I gave birth to our two daughters. All because
I got a bit too hot and used the word “heart” (as in heart rate, not heart attack) when I came in.
I settled in for the night, but all of the attention I received didn’t exactly allow for a restful sleep. Someone needed to draw more blood, someone else needed to check my vital signs,
someone else needed to adjust the leads on the heart monitor that I had to wear
all night.
When morning came, the great cardiologist was back, still thinking that the precautionary heart cath was a good idea. My husband and I nodded. What else could we do? He sent a quick text message to update our daughters, as the nurse dispensed my “relaxation” meds and hurried me off to the cath lab.
Thankfully,
all of my test results were normal, and the heart cath turned up nothing other than a perfectly healthy heart – for which
I am grateful. I managed to sleep rather peacefully all day…even though my “relaxation” meds
really weren’t supposed to have that effect.
The nurse realized well into the afternoon, when I was still sleeping
away, that she’d given me the “standard” dosage that she gave all of her cath
patients – without double-checking my weight. After telling my husband that I probably
only needed half the dose that she’d given me, she suggested that he keep an
eye on me, as I might be a bit drowsy for a while. She wasn’t kidding…
I
made it home after the great adventure, and will be staying put…for a couple of
days, since I can’t drive yet post-cath. Day one has been filled with reading,
prayer, and playing with the dog. Day two will likely look the same.
And
life will begin to get back to normal by day three, when I can climb back
behind the wheel of my Volvo and head back to the office…with a clean bill of
health, a desk full of work – and profound thanks to everyone for all of the
wonderful phone calls, texts, emails, Facebook messages, meals, visits, prayers and loving
thoughts that you’ve sent my way. I’m
really, really fortunate to have such loving friends – and such wonderful, caring physicians in our parish church.
But
I will head back to “normal” taking nothing about being healthy for granted. I
am well aware that the outcome of my little adventure could have been much
different.
Today,
I’m really working on being a better patient. These couple of days of being a quiet patient probably
couldn’t have come at a better time.
And,
hopefully, when these few days of being a patient are over, I'll retain the lessons of quiet and stillness that have been such wonderful gifts.
I hope, too, that my lunch-buddies will still indulge me in agreeing to lunch spots that have
great salads…I’m still planning on eating healthy and pounding the pavement
every day, for as long as I can.
As
amazing as the medical team was, I’d really like to delay another trip to the
hospital as a patient for as long as possible…..!
