Chronicles of NYC Trip - My Trip to the ER

One of the things I learned from my kidney broo-ha-ha ordeal was not to get seriously ill on a saturday or a sunday, as long as you could help it.  Not being a local New Yorker made it twice as bad, because there were absolutely no doctors around during the weekend. 

Which was how I ended up at the ER at St. Luke-Roosevelt hospital on a Saturday evening.  Either that or wait it out and hope I'd still be alive by Monday.  Well, it certainly did not feel like I was gonna make it to the next hour, so waiting til Monday was out of the question.  Turned out that Saturday evenings at the ER happened to be the time when interesting patients came calling.

Approximately 2 hours into my stay at the ER (which consisted mostly of waiting, a CT scan, some morphine shots, and more waiting), I was lying awake on my gurney with my eyes closed, when suddenly there was a commotion outside of my little cubicle.  Out of nowhere, a nurse shoved another gurney into what little space there was next to me, and told a young female to lie down on it.

The said female, who looked like she's in her twenties, was none too happy with the situation.  She looked disheveled, highly disoriented, and increasingly agitated and panicky.  What followed was nothing short of drama...

Girl (half-shouting): "Somebody, please help me!  I'm dying!  Oh my God, why aren't anybody paying attention? I'm gonna die!  Please don't let me die!!! <slight pause> Shit, I can't feel my leg!  It's so swollen, look, how could you guys not see it?!?  It's filled with water!!! <she pointed to her left leg>  Shit, I think I have trouble breathing... and my fingers...  oh my God, they're so numb!  Oh shit, shit, shit, I'm SOoo gonna die!!!  Somebody, please look at my leg!!! <short pause>  My heart!  It's beating too quickly, it's wrong!  Can you please check my heart?  Am I going to die???"

Repeat the above 10 times.

While this girl was rambling at the speed of at least 15 words per second, I was working up a panic attack of my own, what with her rambling on and on about dying.  It was pretty obvious to the rest of us there that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her--her left leg was not swollen, her heart was not beating erratically (as indicated by the beeping heart monitor), her movements were not impeded (as shown by how often she jumped in and out of her gurney), and she was definitely not dying.

In fact, if someone was dying, it was me, not her. 

15 minutes into hearing her endless ramblings, I was irritated, annoyed, and just wanted her to shut the toot up.  Unfortunately, her whole “oh my God I’m so gonna die” babble was working magic on my already scared-shitless mind.  Before long, I too felt like I was gonna die.  That, and a terrible urge to slap the bejeesus out of her. I started crying too; her negativity was too much on my slugging morale.

As the drama unfolded, I learned this much (all courtesy of her ramblings): that the girl took about ten Adderalls too many because she had a “bad day.”  She thought she was being evicted from her apartment, so she spent the whole day packing, only to learn later that she was not being evicted (no shit).  She then had to unpack everything, then worried about an upcoming court order (not clear why), and somehow make it to work on time that night.  To make herself feel better, she was snacking on Adderalls throughout the entire time. 

Girl also came in accompanied by a male friend who, judging from his expression, wanted to bolt out of there any second now.  He waited outside the curtain that separated our little cubicle from the others.  Every 2 minutes, Girl would call out to him and said, “You don’t have to wait for me, but wait, oh my God, I’m SO gonna die.” No wonder the guy looked so confused.

Girl then started rummaging through her handbag looking for her blackberry, dropping her keys and some other weird-looking things on the floor.  She then started calling her “best-friend” (who picked up her phone calls after what seemed to be her 9th calls) and relayed her whole situation.  Again, our close proximity meant I had to listen to her phone conversation.  Surprise!  Turned out Girl’s best-friend just took 2 Ambien, was struggling to stay awake as she speaks, but promised to Girl that once Girl's released from the ER she could come over to her apartment, which was only two blocks away.  “Just come on over.  I’ll leave the key with the concierge, just in case I pass out.   Just let yourself in, okay?  Don't worry, my parents are not home.  They're in Brazil at the moment.”

Girl agreed, saying that it was a great idea, because she was too afraid to go home to her own place (again, not clear why).  Oh but wait, she just remembered that no one's there to feed her dog, and that she hated her roommate because she was “evil reincarnate.”  She also whined about how her male friend would most likely tell others about her "situation," especially to his pal, who Girl said was a jerk yet seemed to be overly preoccupied with.  Then just like that, all worries forgotten, Girl then giggled to best-friend that she had the “juiciest” gossip to tell.

At which point I was swearing quietly, "What the Eff???"  As if it wasn’t bad enough that I was lying there, in excruciating pain, sobbing because by then I was pretty convinced I was the one who was gonna die, and this was what I had to listen to?!?

But then my mommy instincts started to kick in too.  What had the world come into? I mean, there was clearly a few missing points here.   Where were her parents?  Why called her “best-friend” instead of her parents or any close relatives?  What kind of life had this girl been living, so much so that she didn’t have anyone to call, other than some shady best-friend and a male companion who looked like he wanted outta there at the first possible moment.  

What if it were my daughter who was in that situation??  It would break my heart to imagine her stranded alone in a hospital ER somewhere, without me having any knowledge whatsoever about her condition.  Alone, with no one around to help her out.  What kind of a relationship did she have with her parents, that she would rather resort to calling random friends other than her own family?

And what’s up with all these potentially dangerous meds being consumed so freely???  Seriously, Adderall and Ambien?  Those were not the kind of meds you want to mess around with.  How disturbing it was to see how easily things could turn ugly when those meds were being consumed so carelessly.  

And what’s scary was that I'm sure this girl was just one of many.  A quick once-over on the other occupants of the entire 33 cubicles in the ER seemed to confirm my concern.  There were at least three drunk patients, one of them swearing all kinds of profanities on top of his lungs.  There were patients who were high on something,  roaming aimlessly around the ER looking lost and so lonely that they would strike out a conversation with just about anybody who crossed their paths. 

My ER visit lasted 7 hours.  By the time I was cleared to go home, I was still in so much pain (little did I know, though, that it was only the beginning of my endless trips to several doctors and hospitals) but boy, was I glad to be out of that ER bunker.  I had my mother and my nephews waiting for me to take me home, and I appreciated that very much, especially after my experience with Girl earlier.  She was still there when I left, asleep and alone.  I found myself worrying about her, wondering if she would be okay.  

The next day, my husband and daughter came to the city to join me and my mother.  I couldn't be happier to have my family with me.  Yes, I was still in so much pain, but I have my loved ones to fluff my pillows for me, brought me nourishment while I lay helpless in bed, and arranged all my doctor appointments for me.  

I found myself wondering what happened to Girl.  I hope she got the care that she needed.  And I pray that somehow she would find her way back home...

Dear Sir/Madam: F#@& YOU!

Update:  May 31st, 2011.  I just read this post again for the first time after I wrote it, and boy, was this a real piece of crap writing.  My only excuse was that I was in so much pain, it rendered my writing ability to equal that of a fifteen ten year-old.

Below is a real copy of the letter of complaint I sent to my hotel last night.  For my friends out there who are wondering where the heck I've been, this post might shade some light.  *Names had been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals.


May 18th, 2011

LETTER OF COMPLAINT

Dear Sir/Madam:

My name is Do Sweat the Small Stuff*, and I am currently staying in room 1425 and 801 (under the reservation names of Mother Sweat* and Hubby Sweat* in Le Parker Pucker Meridien). Our family are in NYC for our nephew’s graduation, and our reservations are from May 11th until May 24th.

I would like to file a series of complaints regarding the following matters that occurred during the past few days of my stay at your hotel:

• On May 14th morning, I suffered severe pains on my right-hand side upper quadrant of the abdomen as well as high fever. We asked for the hotel to contact the hotel’s affiliated doctor, which took more than one hour.
• The doctor didn’t come, but the assistant physician did. Her diagnosis was: Cholelithiasis, or gall bladder stone, and prescribed me medications
• When my mother called the hotel to request for a water-boiler and ice, to provide compress to my right side, the hotel flat-out told us that we would need to be charged $7++ for those. What arrived were a small thermos filled with hot water, and a bucket of ice. We asked for *water boiler*, not a thermos. 
• On May 14th approximately 6:20 pm, the pain became excruciating, so I asked for my mother to take me to the nearest hospital. Ambulance service was very expensive, and so I thought I would take the taxi instead.
• By this point it was already difficult for me to get up, not to mention walk. 
• Downstairs, we saw a long line of people waiting for the taxi. One of my nephews who came to help me, quickly asked the doorman who was hailing for cabs at the time, if we could get a priority this one time, as I was really sick and in pain, and we needed to go to the hospital quickly.
• The doorman took one look at me, who was leaning on my mother, cringing in pain, and told us “NO.” Then he turned his back on us and resumed whatever he’s doing at the time.
• My nephew then ran to the reception to ask for help. A man from the front desk hesitantly followed my nephew outside to talk to the doorman. They both looked me up and down, and then… nothing. The man went back inside, the doorman resumed hailing cabs, neither one gave me the time of day.
• By now about 15-18 minutes had gone by, and finally my nephew went back in to ask for help again. This time, a different man (from the two previous ones) went along with him and asked me, “Ma’am you need to go to the hospital?” DUH. I was there for the past 20 minutes obviously in so much pain, my nephew had approached two hotel staffs who didn’t give a damn, and now the question? I told him, “Yes, I am in severe pain now because I think I have kidney stones.”
• This man then went out, talked to the first doorman, which was probably when they decided perhaps they should take me seriously and that I wasn’t kidding or anything. I hurt me to even take a breath, and it was crystal clear that I was in so much pain, and what?!? They thought I was kidding or something? Those twenty over minutes could mean life and death, and there they were, just robotically doing their jobs as if they didn’t even want to do it in the first place.
• I was admitted to St. Luke’s Roosevelt hospital ER, and after 6.5 hours of evaluations, tests, and check-ups, I was diagnosed with pyelonephritis, or kidney infection.  The option was given to me on whether or not I would like to stay in the hospital (on a stiff stretcher, next to an unstable overdosed woman who kept on rambling) or return to the hotel. Since there were not much they can do about the pain, I would just have to continue taking the medications until it all cleared out. It was a no-brainer, of course I chose to return to the hotel.
• It was 1:15am by the time I got back from the hospital. My nephew quickly ran in to ask the hotel for a wheelchair. I was still in so much pain and could not walk. It took him over 15 minutes to finally locate a staff who brought out the wheelchair—and even then, only stood by and watched, as my mother and my nephew tried to carry and help me into the wheelchair. He didn’t offer us any assistance whatsoever.
• I was glad to finally reached my hotel room at last, when—guess what—the keys to the room (both of them) didn’t work. We didn’t put the keys where they would be de-magnetized or anything; in fact the two keys were stored differently: one inside my bag, and the other inside my mother’s. My mother quickly went back downstairs to get a new set of keys. There really shouldn’t be any good reason for my keys not to work, it was the 15th and were to check out on the 24th, so there really should be no excuse for them to turn off the activations on our keys.
• 15 long and painful minutes later (the angle of the wheelchair was not supportive of my current condition), my mother returned, accompanied by a hotel staff, who unbelievably had not trusted her enough to give her a new set of room keys even though she had her ID with her (and who had obviously forgotten that about 15 minutes ago we passed the front desk, me slumped in the wheelchair in pain). When they arrived, I was half unconscious, sitting on my wheelchair in front of my hotel room; my nephew was jamming the key into the key hold in frustration. That moment must have been when the hotel staff was *finally* aware of the urgency of the situation, because he immediately opened the room door for us and said he would be back with a new set of keys.
• That night my mother called the hotel for a water boiler and ice to compress me with, and guess what? Again they sent a small water kettle and a bucket of ice with a $7 tag on them.
• Fast forward to May 19th, I was *still* in pain (after two more visits to the doctor). As I were still having chills, it’s really a treat to drink something cold. But we didn’t want to keep being charged for an additional $7++ for a bucket of ice, so what my mother did was to remove the contents of the hotel mini bar fridge, and replaced them with the stuff that we bought at a nearby pharmacy. Turned out that the fridge was electronically set so that every time we remove something from it, we got charged. 
• My mother then called the hotel again, and asked if they could somehow turned off the system just until I feel better. We weren’t eating or drinking anything out of the mini bar. Come on, in my current condition, when would I find the time to cheat the hotel? The answer back from the hotel was that, “no there’s nothing we can do about it. If you need to use a fridge, we can rent it out… for an additional $40++ per day.”
• I have reached the limit of my patience. I am not staying in some dingy, unknown accommodation. I am staying at Le Parker Pucker Meridien, which is not a cheap hotel. I came here expecting a certain standard of service that is above average. What I’ve experienced is not only that your hotel service does not meet my standards, but it is also way below what is humane.
• With the exception of the housekeeping maids, who were sometimes helpful and tried in their own ways to make my stay at the hotel a little bearable, there was NO single staff that extends their hands to assist me. And mind you, my mother is old; yet they’ve seen her countless of times trying to support me while I walked, leaving her struggling as well, without so much of an offer to help.

I must say that your hotel staff dickheads (excluding the room maids) and your hotel services are abominable. And that is an understatement. Those precious minutes of waiting and your staffs’ inefficiencies could really mean life or death for someone who’s ill. And the way you run your hotel, everything and everybody functioning like a robot, dehumanized your customers, whom you should be catering to.
I will never recommend Le Parker Pucker Meridien to any of my acquaintances. And I will make sure that your lack of sensitivity to your clients’ needs would be known to the public at large. I do not appreciate how badly I have been treated by your staff during the past few days. It is my hope that no one else suffers from the same treatment at least until your management decides to take some action about it.

Sincerely,
Do Sweat the Small Stuff (Room 1425 and 803)

What the *toot* am I doing, blogging?

I've got like 15 minutes before my flight to New York city, and guess what I'm doing?  Yep, I blog!  And that's after finding out at the last minute that I read my ticket wrongly... what I thought was departure at 5:50am turned out to be 5:50pm.  Smart, I know.  So you can imagine all the rough and tumble packing I did when I realized I only got about 3 hours before I had to leave to the airport.  You see, I'm going on a month-long trip to NYC, then Paris, then Cannes, and then back to Paris.  Not easy for an OCD like me... just the thought of packing was already enough to make me sort of $#!^ in my pants.

Anyhoo, gotta run to the gate now.  Will be back when I reach NYC.  My only hope at the moment is to have an eye-candy of a man sitting next to me.  That has never happened by the way.  Dear God, there's always a first time, right?