Some months later, it was determined that I would need a pacemaker. During the procedure, I woke up. I felt an object in my throat and began to fear that something was wrong. Had a trach been placed? Were there complications? I tried to speak, unsuccessfully. I began banging my hand on the surgical table to try and get someone’s attention. No one came to talk with me. I banged my other hand on the table and again, no response. The anesthesiologist was asked to increase the fentanyl and restrain my hands. As I fell back to sleep, whatever was in my mouth was removed. I was afraid. I needed a kind word and a gentle touch to reassure me, but I was invisible.
The next week I had a hip replacement. I brought my medications to the hospital so that I could take them while I was being treated. I had done this in previous hospitalizations because of past medication issues in the hospital. My medications were placed in a drawer and never used. I was told that those were my "home" medications and that I would be given the "hospital" medications. Later, I was infuriated when I didn’t receive all of my prescriptions. Staff didn’t understand my distress.
Anemia and low blood pressure kept me in the hospital for an additional day. Because I was on a variety of heart medications that created a low blood pressure side-effect, I called my cardiologist’s office. The health care providers in the hospital were not reaching out to them. I felt a sense of desperation. I knew that if I hadn’t connected them with each other, these issues would have persisted and wouldn’t have been addressed appropriately.
After I was released, my low blood pressure continued to be a problem at home. It sometimes dropped as low as 62/42. There was a difference of opinion among the physicians about one medication I was taking that created blood pressure issues. The specialists focused on their areas of medical expertise and provided differing solutions rather than collaborate to find a resolution. I wanted to shout out that I was a whole person, not a series of parts, and that each part together made the whole me. Once again, I felt invisible.
I was taken by ambulance to the hospital a few weeks later because of some pacemaker issues. Additionally, I was dependent on my walker and unable to sit straight up in a chair for any length of time due to my hip precautions. My walker was not with me. The EMT conveyed my issues to the triage nurse who told him that I would need to sit in the waiting room. I felt like a number rather than a person. It was very upsetting. In my frustration, I told the EMT that I was going home. My restrictions felt inconsequential and that I didn't matter. An emergency room doctor intervened at the request of the EMT and made sure that I was being cared for properly.
I was told the next day that my surgeon would come to see me after his last procedure. Three hours passed and no surgeon. When I inquired about his whereabouts, I was told that he was in a two-hour meeting. He arrived six hours later. My life felt unimportant. I was in the midst of trying to manage issues with both my business and my care at home while lying in a hospital bed. I was at the beck and call of a system that didn’t care.
These experiences opened my eyes. I had never experienced the system in this way, either as a health care professional or as a patient. We are not performing our jobs in a way that has the patient being seen, heard and cared for in the best ways possible. Now I have expanded my thinking about the ways in which we need to make change.
In my next blog, I will begin to discuss how I am going to tackle these issues.