Emergency (Who) Care(s?)

Is it self-preservation that makes some employees of emergency rooms so unsympathetic? Is it too emotionally draining to admit to oneself that the people who come in those doors are all in pain? That's what I'm guessing. It's the only explanation I have.

Last year when I dislocated my shoulder, I showed up in the ER soaking wet -- I was just out of the shower -- and wearing the only button-up shirt I owned, no bra, only one leg shaved, hair not even combed. So when the receptionist at the ER refused to look me in the eye and appeared to be unsympathetic, if not downright annoyed by my presence, I chalked it up to my crappy appearance. I looked hideous. I decided she probably thought I was nuts, or faking it.

And then last week I received the same cool treatment when I went in with an ankle dislocation and compound fracture. This time I was fully clothed, although it was clear from the appearance of my shoes and socks that I had been mowing grass. (As a side note, I COULD have kept some family dignity and insisted on taking a bath before the ER trip as my grandmother did when she broke her knee, but she promptly passed out in the bathtub, so I decided to forgo that step for my husband's sake.) Once again in the ER, I wheeled up to the desk, obviously in pain, and waited for someone to help me. They purposefully ignored me. Then I noticed the notepad and pen and realized I was to sign in. I signed in. Shortly after that, they called my name. When I turned around, I couldn't figure out who had said my name or where to go. I asked a worker. He barked, "Triage!" as if clearly everybody who is anybody knows that that's who calls you first, and everybody who's anybody knows where triage is! I finally found where I was to go, answered the routine list of questions without any eye contact from an employee, and then was told that gruff man who had told me about triage was going to take me back to immediate care. When I reached out to help hold the door open, he barked at me. Okay, I'm sure they have policies about people not helping to hold the door open, but barking at patients about it surely isn't necessary.

Once I was back in immediate care, I had a long wait -- not the ER staff's fault. I heard them saying they were preparing for the victims of a bad wreck, and I'm sure there were people in worse shape than I was, so I didn't blame them for that at all.

A long while, an X-ray, a Lortab, and the announcement of my diagnosis later, I was taken back to the ER to have my ankle reduced. It was like deja vu; it was the same procedure as when they reduced my shoulder. I was mildly amused that the staff kept avoiding telling me the name of the drug I would be receiving, and that they glared at a worker who accidentally let the word "diprivan" slip off her tongue.

When I awoke from my diprivan-induced sleep, it was to the sound of a saw. They were cutting off the tightly wrapped splint they had just put on because, as I overheard, someone had a made a mistake with it. Then I felt a sharp pain as the saw touched my leg, and I yelled out. The doctor told me to be still and assured me the saw cannot cut skin. I wanted to tell them to take a look at the place that was hurting just below my knee, but I was still foggy, so I just told myself not to be a baby. Then they cut me again, and I jerked and yelled out again. I was trying to say, "Exuse me, but I think something is cutting me. Would you mind checking just about an inch below my knee?" Of course it came out, "AAAEEEEEEOOOOOOOOAAAA."

This time the doctor was incredibly impatient with me and said, "Ma'am, you need to hold still! This saw can NOT cut you!"

Tell that to the inch-long cut on my leg. I hope they saw the blood eventually.

I didn't say anything else. I just lay still and tried not to cry. Had I been more awake, I would have been more of an advocate for myself, but with the anesthesia still hanging over me, I couldn't be.

A friend of ours severed his finger with a power saw the day before my accident. In the same ER, when he entered cradling his bleeding hand and the severed finger in his good hand, he told the nearest worker he had severed his finger. He was ready to pass out. She told him he would have to sign in.

Again, I wonder what it does for these workers to pretend the people before them are not in pain? Does it desensitize them enough to do their jobs? Or does it simply make their jobs easier if they can pretend we are not human?