Many years ago I ended up in the ER for a gynecological-related problem. After six grueling hours in the ER with an arrogant male attending, he came in to announce that there was nothing wrong with me, I was just constipated. (He was wrong. I received the correct diagnosis the next day by my FEMALE OBGYN.) I was furious. I was so angry, I yanked out my IV by myself, threw it on the floor where it began to form a large pool, and stomped out of the ER without waiting to be discharged. I vowed to never return to the ER unless it was by ambulance. Tonight, I returned to the ER. By ambulance. And I’ve made a new vow. The next time they take me, not only will it have to be by ambulance, but I will have to be unconcious.

When I was pregnant with my children, I had some cardiac issues that I was told were benign, hormonally induced and would probably return with menopause. As some of you already know, I am in peri-menopause. Consequently I’ve been ignoring the racing and irregular heart beat and lately I’ve been having some chest pain. This morning I woke up and was having chest pain again but this time it was radiating to my back, down my arm and up to my jaw. I was very uncomfortable all day with nausea and dizziness. I tried to call the Microsoft mobile medic to come by for a visit, but as soon as the nurse heard my symptoms, she insisted I go to the ER. I argued with her- “But the chest pain is on my right side. I’m 37 years old. I work out 4 or 5 times a week. I’m a vegetarian. I don’t drink or smoke. I’m the poster child for healthy living. How could this be a heart attack?” She insisted I go immediately. I was feeling too rotten to put up much of an argument, but there was no way I was going to the ER. Instead I opted for the urgent care clinic. After being at the clinic for over an hour, they got nervous, scared the hell out of me and called the paramedics. The doctor AND the nurse seemed to freak a little when I got dizzy standing up for a chest x-ray. They tried to put in an IV, blew three veins and then I asked them to stop. I can barely bend either arm and it hurts to close my hand.

The room was swarmed with paramedics in less than five minutes- I think there were 6 of them. Of course, there’s one really cute one and one total ass. Guess which one left and which one stayed? Yep. Paramedic McCutie took off and Paramedic McAsshole stayed. Advice to paramedics: Don’t get up in someone’s grill who has just been freaked out by the doctor and nurse panicking. I went mute. Literally couldn’t focus on questions. Trying to process a scared doctor who thinks I’m having a heart attack. I repeated the same thing to everyone I encountered: I’m 37 years old. I work out 4 or 5 times a week. I’m a vegetarian. I don’t drink or smoke. I’m the poster child for healthy living. How could this be a heart attack? And each person said- Oh it could happen. Right. To someone who weighs 400 pounds and eats nothing but Twinkies. Honestly, not me!

So I was taken by ambulance to the ER. The paramedics did manage to get the IV in on the first try, but still did something wrong because it hurt the whole time and blood and IV fluid were running down my arm the whole time. After more tests, I finally got a fantastic diagnosis- chest pain. Yes, it took six hours for that gem. The ER doctor tried to push some narcotics on me. I refused. He sent me home with a prescription, which I won’t fill. I don’t take medication to treat a symptom when you don’t know what’s wrong with me. Sorry, Doc. I asked the hospital to call a cab to take me back to my truck. The hospital said they’d give me a voucher for the trip. I had trouble communicating with the driver whom I suspect spoke African clicking language because I couldn’t understand a damned word he said and when he started talking on his cell phone while driving (!) I was sure that wasn’t a language I’d ever heard before. As it turns out, he refused to take me back to my truck and instead took me home. If I had felt better I might have beat the hell out of him with my purse. Lord knows I need to take some frustration out on SOMEONE.

So here I sit. One ambulance ride, one filthy taxi ride, one doctor visit, one ER visit, three blown veins later. And I am no better off than I was earlier. In fact, I think I might be in worse condition than before I left. And my truck is still sitting in the urgent care parking lot. Mark my words. I will have to be unconcious or missing a limb before I go back. I am so sick of doctors. If you don’t know, just say so. Say: “I spent 8 years in medical school so I could say, I have no effing clue what is wrong with you. I don’t even know why you bothered to come in. You’re still breathing right? Come back when you’ve stopped breathing.” At least I wasn’t diagnosed constipated again…..FOR SURE someone would have paid for that. No matter HOW bad I felt.