Last night I spent three hours in the ER, not a fun alternative to our planned "date night". I had gotten some sort of itchy insect bite a few days ago - mostly likely from a jumping spider I saw & squooshed while folding laundry on the floor - that suddenly turned into a swollen blue sore surrounded by a three inch raised red ring all around it. And man, it ACHED everytime I stood up and blood rushed to it. Weird. So I called the doctor, which of course had just closed a few hours earlier, and was told I should go to the ER in case it was a tick bite or something serious. Well, I never saw a tick or pulled one out of me, so I thought that was highly unlikely. But I heeded her advice and set off in the rain, leaving Matthew at home with a bottle for B. Three hours later, I ditched the packed ER, realizing I probably wouldn't be seen for hours, since most everyone else in there looked a lot worse off that I did and ambulances kept arriving. I figured my leg wouldn't fall off by Monday and Brighton needed to eat. The triag nurse wasn't too pumped about that, but seeing as we had no other option - no extra vehicle for Matthew to bring Brighton to me and no way on earth I'd go get him to keep with me there, she let me go. My doctor called LIVID this morning that I hadn't stayed. When I asked her what she recommended I do with my 7 week old son, she had nothing to say, but instead rattled of a list of potential horrific things that could happen to me - neurological damage, permanent tissue damage, scarring, etc... Umm, okay, let's not panic or anything, doc. Why do doctor's feel like they always need to do that? Why does it feel like they're always just trying to cover their rear and not actually relate to you as a person. Not empathize with me about how difficult a decision this was or help me come up with a solution of how to wait for 5+ hours and be able to feed my infant son? I guess there are some out there that do, I know I've been blessed with great doctors in the past who know and love our family. Maybe that's why it's so hard to suddenly not be known and not really cared about. Just being another number, another problem to solve, another case. She left me with an ominous warning and the grave responsibilty of making my own decision in the matter...thanks. Unless it gets a lot worse today, I'm just going to keep hot-compressing it and taking some ibruprophen. I guess I shouid repent for being so bitter against the whole medical system...argh, it just thoroughly frustrates me. These are the days I wish I lived back in the 1800's with good ol' Doc Jones to ride his horse over to our house and talk to Matthew about the weather and crops and set to fixin' up my leg. Ha! That probably would entail amputating it back then though. But according to my current doctor, that may just be our only solution come Monday...ha, ha ;0)
Last night I spent three hours in the ER, not a fun alternative to our planned "date night". I had gotten some sort of itchy insect bite a few days ago - mostly likely from a jumping spider I saw & squooshed while folding laundry on the floor - that suddenly turned into a swollen blue sore surrounded by a three inch raised red ring all around it. And man, it ACHED everytime I stood up and blood rushed to it. Weird. So I called the doctor, which of course had just closed a few hours earlier, and was told I should go to the ER in case it was a tick bite or something serious. Well, I never saw a tick or pulled one out of me, so I thought that was highly unlikely. But I heeded her advice and set off in the rain, leaving Matthew at home with a bottle for B. Three hours later, I ditched the packed ER, realizing I probably wouldn't be seen for hours, since most everyone else in there looked a lot worse off that I did and ambulances kept arriving. I figured my leg wouldn't fall off by Monday and Brighton needed to eat. The triag nurse wasn't too pumped about that, but seeing as we had no other option - no extra vehicle for Matthew to bring Brighton to me and no way on earth I'd go get him to keep with me there, she let me go. My doctor called LIVID this morning that I hadn't stayed. When I asked her what she recommended I do with my 7 week old son, she had nothing to say, but instead rattled of a list of potential horrific things that could happen to me - neurological damage, permanent tissue damage, scarring, etc... Umm, okay, let's not panic or anything, doc. Why do doctor's feel like they always need to do that? Why does it feel like they're always just trying to cover their rear and not actually relate to you as a person. Not empathize with me about how difficult a decision this was or help me come up with a solution of how to wait for 5+ hours and be able to feed my infant son? I guess there are some out there that do, I know I've been blessed with great doctors in the past who know and love our family. Maybe that's why it's so hard to suddenly not be known and not really cared about. Just being another number, another problem to solve, another case. She left me with an ominous warning and the grave responsibilty of making my own decision in the matter...thanks. Unless it gets a lot worse today, I'm just going to keep hot-compressing it and taking some ibruprophen. I guess I shouid repent for being so bitter against the whole medical system...argh, it just thoroughly frustrates me. These are the days I wish I lived back in the 1800's with good ol' Doc Jones to ride his horse over to our house and talk to Matthew about the weather and crops and set to fixin' up my leg. Ha! That probably would entail amputating it back then though. But according to my current doctor, that may just be our only solution come Monday...ha, ha ;0)
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home