A Trip to the Emergency Room

I dislocated my shoulder last night.

We were playing wiffle ball in the yard in front of the house for Family Home Evening. Steven was pitching. The kids took turns batting and running bases and I was chasing after the balls.  One moment I was running after a ball and the next the sidewalk was coming at me in slow motion but at a crazy angle. Then I felt the horrid jarring in my shoulder. Steven was at my side in a second but all I could say was, "Ouch! ouch! ouch! ouch! ouch!"

The game came to abrupt halt as we all went inside - the kids to eat the oatmeal craisin white chocolate chip cookies I had made for dessert, and Steven to sit next to me on the couch while I held an ice pack to my shoulder and cried while I waited for the horrible pain to ebb. Only it didn't.

When I finally acknowledged that I needed medical help, Steven helped me to the car and we went to an Urgent Care clinic in the neighborhood. We went in and stood at the admissions counter for long minutes while the nurse went to check with the physician to see if he could treat me and then the physician came to the window and, with no urgency whatsoever, explained that he may or may not be able to help, but even if he could, he didn't have the anesthetic that they would have at the hospital emergency room. Feeling frustrated, faint, and in desperate need to sit down I said, "Fine. We'll go to the emergency room then." Steven helped me back to the car and we drove to the hospital, every bump in the road causing a spasm of excruciating pain through my arm comparable to being in labor. I sobbed.

We arrived at the hospital and found the emergency room drop off entrance - not an easy task due to construction. We went in and weaved through the maze of halls towards the emergency room. (I would hope that when the hospital isn't under construction, the entrance would be a little closer to the admission desk.) Finally I collapsed into a chair in the hallway that served as a waiting room while Steven typed my information into a check-in computer. And then we sat. Steven went back to move the car, and when he returned, I was still waiting, crying. And we sat some more. Even through my pain, the thought crossed my mind to wonder how many people had bled to death in the waiting room waiting to be seen. At one point Steven went to the counter to see if they could get me something for the pain, but they told him I needed to get through admissions and triage first, so "sit down and wait for her name to be called." It wasn't until I went into shock - shivering, panting for breath, my hands going numb, and Steven went back to the counter to inform them of the fact and ask for a blanket, that they finally acknowledged my presence.

I sat in a chair in a small, crowded room still clutching my ice pack to my throbbing shoulder as someone asked me questions - what was my name? What was my date of birth? What was my social security number? Was I pregnant? Do I take any medications daily? It was hard for me to calm my breathing enough to get the words out. I knew the answers but I felt like I couldn't talk, gasping out responses in incoherent syllables. Both my hands were numb, and my feet were starting to loose feeling too. I tried to tell the interviewer and was told I needed to slow my breathing. I wasn't getting enough oxygen.

Finally the questions ended. But not the torture. They made me stand and move to a bed in the corner and oh! the agony in my shoulder! Someone stuck a needle in my other arm and taped the attached tubes down so eventually they would have an easy way to administer medications.... eventually. Then I was in torment again when my arm was jostled as I was moved off the bed and into a wheelchair, and then off the wheelchair and onto a bed in another room, one that looked like a doctor's examination room.

Finally, a kindly looking gray haired man came in who introduced himself as a doctor and at last someone finally looked at my shoulder. He stroked my fingers and asked if I could feel it, and asked a few more questions. He told me my shoulder might be dislocated or it might be broken, or possibly both. He ordered pain meds (Yay!) and an x-ray. The nurse came in to give me first an anti-nausea medication, and then the pain killer. Both went directly into my bloodstream, and the pain in my shoulder did seem to decrease somewhat. The nurse told me I could get more pain medication if I needed it, and then retreated as the x-ray people came in. By the time they were done shifting me around to get the pictures they wanted, I was in tears and begging for another dose of the pain meds, which I was cheerfully given.

The results of the x-rays came back. Not broken, just dislocated. (So I can still say I've never broken a bone.) I was wheeled on my bed (thank goodness I didn't have to get up again!) into an operating room where a blood pressure cuff was put on my arm to measure my blood pressure every five minutes, oxygen tubes were put up my nose, and some other sensors were attached to my finger and chest to measure my pulse, heart rate and who knows what all else. By this point, whether from the pain, or the meds, or just the fact that it was my normal bedtime, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. The asynchronous beeping from the different machines in the room soon lulled me to sleep. I barely remember someone coming and fiddling with the needle in my arm, and then I awoke groggily with the tremendous pressure in my shoulder gone and my arm encased in a sling.

Some time later, another x-ray team came in to check what the doctor had done, and a while after that a nurse came in to remove the blood pressure cuff, the needle, the oxygen tubes, the sensor on my finger, and the tubes attached to the sensors on my chest. (It wasn't until I got home that I realized I still had the sensor/stickers on my chest still.) Eventually, someone else came in to give some more instructions, Steven was sent to get the car and I was shifted to a wheelchair and wheeled out. I was sent home with a doctor's note excusing me from work for two days, prescriptions for two different kinds of medicines and instructions not to do anything important today - like write a will.

I think it was about 11:00pm when we got home. I spent the night propped up on a pile of pillows, scared that I might try to roll over in my sleep. This morning, Steven stuck around long enough to see the kids off to school and pick up my prescriptions from a pharmacy before he left for work. I plan to take it easy. As long as I don't move, it doesn't hurt.