Sunday, October 3, 2010
Franklin Scare Hospital
I thought I was making that name up, Franklin Scare Hospital (a play on words for Franklin Square Hospital) but as it turns out, I'm not the only person who's had a near-death experience there. Several people I've spoken to since they almost killed me on Thursday, have told me their own personal horror stories about having been treated there.
Okay, I didn't almost die, but no thanks to Dr. Lopez with his lackluster attitude about my health. Here's the scoop:
I had been having severe abdominal pains for more than 12 hours straight. I know you're thinking, "menstrual cramps" right? Me, too! But these weren't any ordinary (as if there is such a thing) menstrual cramps. They started at around 9 PM on Wednesday evening, and those suckers refused to stop. I called my doctor's office Thursday morning and the nurse said, "Come in now! We're putting you in as an emergency appointment."
Emergency, my ass! They had me waiting a whole 'nother hour in that wet, dreary waiting room. It wasn't until they saw my black ass crying that they thought, "Hmm, shit must be serious." I was seconds away from demanding my co-pay back and taking my chances with the ER. I'm sure there's something I can get at Panera Bread for $5. So Dr. M. did her thing and decided to call an ambulance to come and get me. Guess I'm taking my chances with the ER anyway. As an aside let me just point out that 911 was busy! Note to self: move to a city where the criminals don't outnumber the good guys.
When I get to the hospital, I have to lie in the doorway for about 15 minutes while the EMTs check me in, put that little plastic bracelet on my wrist, and then roll me to my own little cubby hole. Yes, the EMTs did this, not the nurses. That should have been my first clue. I lay there for 15 more minutes before anyone even acknowledges that I have, in fact, come to them for care. When a nurse does come over, I asked her to please give me a heat pack or pad to help ease the pain. "Oh, we don't have heat packs at this hospital." That should have been my second clue. A second nurse comes to inform me that they are sending me to "flex care" so that I can be seen sooner. "Can you walk down there?" You know how long hospital corridors are, right? Flex care was 1 1/2 corridors away. Strike three. Why the hell am I here again? Oh, right, I'm fucking dying.
Just when I was about to ask this bitch if she'd rather I run or skip, an angel appeared. She looked like she was coming back from lunch, but she took one look at the expression on my face and knew that my walking was a bad idea. She got a wheelchair and rolled me down the hall. God bless her. I waited in flex care's waiting room for 20 minutes before someone called me back. I had to follow her (read walk) to the last exam room. In all fairness to her, the room was about 50 feet away, but it may as well have been a mile.
Skip through some disgusting details and I'm back in exam room 5 waiting for test results and Dr. Lopez. The P.A. comes in and asks, "How's the pain medicine working?" I ask, "What pain medicine?" I'd only been there for three hours in agonizing pain. Who needs pain killers? The nurse gives me some drugs and for the first time in almost 24 hours, the pain subsides.
Dr. Lackluster comes in an hour later and says this (I swear to holy hell these were his exact words): "Well, we can do one of three things. I can just give you some pain meds and send you home; we could do a sonogram to maybe figure out what's causing the pain; or I can admit you, but you look too good for that." Let me see, I think I'll pick...a) send me home to die. So he's trying to figure out if I'm actually in pain or just drug-seeking AND hitting on me at the same time. Wow. I guess that means he'll fuck the shit out of a good-looking crack whore.
Oh, did I mention that I was fucking freezing the whole time? Everyone kept promising to bring me more blankets. I never got them because every time someone would check the closet, it was empty. Apparently, that first nurse had given me the last one. Lucky me.
If you ever see me bleeding to death in a gutter and my only chance of surviving means going to Franklin Square, please, I beg you, let me die in the gutter. There's at least dignity in that.
Hey, now that you're done laughing at my expense, check out my other blog The Well-Fed Spirit. I hardly curse at all over there. ;)