This morning, I find myself in the waiting room of one of North Carolina's larger medical centers. My wife is undergoing a last minute out patient procedure, and while I sit here holding her hand, I find myself wondering why we are so broken in this particular area of our lives. OK, to be truthful, I am not holding her hand right now. She is in recovery, zonked out on the one thing we do well - get people high. So while I wait, I thought I would make a few observations, and maybe one of my readers can help fix what is broken.
So first, I should point out - The people here for the most part have been terrific. From the woman we met at reception at 6:55 AM who guided us to our room, to the IV nurse who patiently worked with Amy to try to get her IV started, to our doctor, the team here has been wonderful. The care they brought literally had me in tears, and I wondered where these people can find the compassion in the bureaucracy to which our legal establishment has perverted our hospitals. It was remarkable, and at a low point in our lifes, it was comforting like warm blankets and labrador retrievers.
Unfortunately, the inefficiency born of litigation have come to take what should be a routine procedure and make it unbearable. We were here 2 hours prior to the procedure, and received no less than 6 separate visitors, 3 of whom asked the exact same questions. Yes, she is allergic to penicillin. Yes, she has been in the hospital. Yes, she is under stress and in nervous. Yes the sky is blue, yes, get the fuck out of our room. Oh and yes she is 5 foot 4 inches tall. If you really brought me into a hospital to ask me how tall she is, we are surely broken. So, we go through the battery of questions. Twice. (Which I thought was nice; I am sure people undergoing open heart surgery hear this same barage 12 times.)
Then the woman comes in to draw blood. She is a linebacker of a woman with the compassion of someone doing a cavity search. After rooting around in one of my wife's arms, I watched her do the other. And my stomach began churning. I have never had an issue with medical stuff. I watched them sew up my hand (I even considered sewing my hand myself that time), I have seen pretty bad wounds, and I even like medical TV. However, while I watched the woman dig for a few minutes, I felt that wave of nausea that comes at sea during a bad storm, or while watching someone you love sit in pain, while you are helpless to kill the beast causing the pain. As the blood finally, mercifully began to flow, I felt the sickness subside and I was able to plan an alibi for the murder of a linebacker. But then the room was filled with more questions from new faces, and with this many witnesses, my plan for revenge was thwarted. Remember - I said most were wonderful here. This woman was just wrong.
The man came while the IV nurse still struggled to find a vein, and he wanted to take Amy down. Now, I know I mentioned above that the people were wonderful, but this woman was above and beyond. She was patient with a sobbing patient, gentle when the times were toughest, and above all professional, while loving. In the case of a large scale hospital, where lives are saved and lost all day, her role was to set up IV inputs for patients awaiting surgery. She comes in for the harder cases where the vein is less than obvious and the floor nurse is unable to help. Some would see her job as small, given that most patients will likely not remember what she did for them on a busy day, and she will seldom be heralded as saving a life, and less often receive the glory she deserves for her work. However, to me today, she was a hero, as without her, I was one straw away from a broken back. Thanks Beth. I will send a letter to Rex hospital, and maybe you will get the praise you deserve.
The gurneyman (I know this isn't the right term, but it sounded funny to me) arrived to take Amy down to the OR, but Beth hadn't been lucky in finding that vein. Amy needs more heroin to make those veins more pronouced. We're on that starting next week. Beth tried everything from smacking my wife's arm, like a junkie on pay day to a little blue and red flashlight which highlights the vein. It was pretty cool. The gurneyman tried to goad her into releasing Amy to him, so and I could see Beth feeling rushed. I then learned a valuable lesson. The patient actually has rights. I told her, but loud enough to hear for the gurneyman, that I didn't care that the OR was ready. We'd move when Beth was ready. And Beth went back to work and the gurneyman stood like a soldier on the parade ground - silent. A few minutes later, Beth finally looked up and called it a day. She explained that the OR could dilate the veins and she was stumped. I can live with that. But patients need to stop moving for schedules, and hospitals need to start moving schedules for patients. The professionals I met today are in this business for the care they get to give - the pay is a bonus.
And so we went - to the elevator - then to a set of door which act like the giant curtain of Oz. And now I sit, and wonder.
Sorry for the break. While I was out, the doctor came out to talk to me. A great guy. After this is all over, I would by him dinner, but he has seen my wife in a way I haven't so I don't know if we could look at each other over steaks and try to erase that thought from my mind. Amy is fine - though completely stoned - lucky. She is in recovery.
It is 1030 now, and despite all of the annoying factors of the visit here, she will be fine. And orderly just came into the waiting room - she clearly has Downs Syndrome, but is high functioning, and she gives me a smile to tell me my wife is back to her room. And so I am off, to find her. And in a few weeks, we will be trying again, and again, to give my boy a little brother or sister to abuse mercilessly as I did to my wonderful sister.
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