Welcome To My Palpitations (Part Two)

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A memoir © DJ Ryan June 2008

I’d only been out for a few seconds but it was enough to disorient me. Outside of the ambulance, the light from the orange street lamps looked distorted through a misty shower then slowly everything came back into focus."So tell us now Mark, how’s the pain now?" asked the senior Paramedic."Blood pressure has stayed pretty constant," says the trainee."You need to tell us,” says the senior, harshly now, “do you need more Glytrin?""No, I'd rather not,” I sighed, “that stuff made me more ill I think.”"Yeah listen chief,” he snarls, “it’s a bit of a trade-off, you get a little dizziness or you keep the chest pain. I'll give you a tip. You don't want to be turning this down. You're best to let the professional’s help, okay chief? "

Chief? Who is he calling chief? I didn't think I needed any more of anything just now … in the background, I can hear the driver talking to the hospital.

“Suspected cardiac episode, eta five minutes, patient is stable.”

He reels off my vitals and what they’ve given me, while I mull over how I’d just been chastised. I mean, wasn't it my choice to say what went into my body? Up until this point, I’d had nothing but admiration for these guys although, with that little snipe? Still, it was probably best to get back on an even keel with these guys, for all I knew, they might very well have just saved my life.

But it's too late now. The ambulance is already pulling into the entranceway of the North Shore Hospital and now with IV rattling my gurney is wheeling towards admissions.

My ambulance crew are trading jovial barbs with the nurses and interns. The gurney slows and with me as the captive audience my trainee is grilled by the admissions sister. "So Doug, tell us the status of the patient?"

Fifty-five-year-old male. Presented with difficult breathing and chest pains which were relieved with ... GTN ... Ah ..." He hesitates, stumbling over his own notes.

"Come on Doug, this is a cardiac patient, every second counts!"

Doug mumbles his words till the senior paramedic takes over the presentation, reading the clipboard over his shoulder.

"That was ratshit Doug," pronounces the sister. "Four out of 10 must do better."

They all laugh, my gurney picks up the pace again and we’re heading for the ER. As the hospital staff takes over I try to wave thanks at the ambulance crew, but they've already moved on, ribbing the hapless Doug as they go.

****

So here I am, back in the emergency room. There are more questions and the frantic stripping away of my clothes. But this time there’s an even greater sense of urgency and I’m getting all the attention. In attendance there are two nurses, an intern and a doctor with a brittle, German accent, her questions or maybe her awkward manner grate on my nerves. I try to refer her to the hospital summary, already on file but she insists on pumping me for the same information again.

They plug me in to their monitors, take a blood sample, and watch me intently for the next few minutes. Whatever is going on, I don't feel right, the oxygen mask still makes me feel claustrophobic and I want to take it off. But one of my nurses tells me. “No Mark, after a heart attack your body needs that oxygen for at least 24 hours. You'll get used to it love, just breathe it in, it'll make you feel better."

She’d said the words. So it was true, I’d actually had a heart attack.

While I rest my eyes there’s a shift change and I hear another German accent. He’s arrogant and cocky and complains to a nurse that he needs more room."We shall move into trauma A then we can spread out and get amongst it yes?"

In the new room, it’s more bloods and a portable x-ray unit to … “Really cover all the bases yes?” He works me over good this new guy. It's intense, and while he works, he’s firing questions at me and blasting orders at a nurse. "So Mark, your meds, they were Solotal and Warfarin, you've had these today? I hesitate. "No, not so far, I’m not sure, I wasn't really thinking that straight.”

"This is okay sir. We can take care of it all now. First we wait for blood results, see what we are working with. See if you had a heart attack, okay?

Was he asking or telling? I didn't know anymore.

They leave me for a moment, there’s activity in another part of the room, and then the doctor is back with a vengeance. "Mark, I give you a rectal exam now, it's a bit unpleasant but not for long okay?"

I give him a look; I know what’s coming but am in no position to argue."They all get one," he declares, loudly. "All the men who come before me, they all get a rectal exam.” He’s smiling. Maybe he’s a sadist or perhaps this is a little German humour? I'm not laughing and when it’s over I sigh my relief, but from him, from my king of comedy, there is more to come. "For the blood now Mark, we give you this to act quickly, instead of the Warfarin." He’s holding a very long needle, while the nurse lifts my smock. "This will go directly into your stomach," he says. "You must be very still, and don't touch the area for a while as it will bruise very easily." (Three days later, I could still see the bruising)

I closed my eyes. It hurts like hell, and then it's over. When I look up the room is deserted, I’m left there alone to wonder. Was it a heart attack? Do I even care?

Laughing Fritz has disappeared now and they’re moving me into another cubical. I notice the clock it’s close to 10. I've been here 4 hours and yet another nurse is asking after my welfare. I tell her that I'm starting to feel like a bit of a fraud.

"Absolutely not," she gently scolds. "When you first arrived you were looking very grey around the edges no, this is where you needed to be my dear.

"A few minutes later a specialist team arrives. Its question time again, then one of the interns says, "Ah, Mr London, I remember you from last time. You were A-fib, then reverted to sinus spontaneously, yes?"

I nod my head enthusiastically. At last, someone’s put it all together!

She explains my details to her colleagues then says, "So, our tests thus far have proved negative, but because of your A fib, your age and family history, we are going to admit you for further observation. If you're up to it tomorrow, we'll give you a fatigue test.

”I look at her blankly. “A fatigue test?”"That means we'll run you on a treadmill and monitor your vitals.

"A few minutes later they move me into the over-crowded acute ward. And there I lie, watching hospital staff coming and going, a constant stream of gurneys passing by. I can't help but be impressed by the staff. It's obvious that they are under manned. They might very well complain, but rarely to us. We get only the best of them. A smile here, a gently tap on the arm there.

"You okay Mark, still no pain? Let us know, won't you?"

With unfamiliar eyes I watch. My gurney is the island, from which I view the world until several wasted hours later, when they’ve finally found me a bed.

I’m in a wheelchair now, being taken to my ward. We stop briefly at the nurses’ station. “This is Mark London," my orderly announces. I offer up a smile but all that comes back are the vague stares of the overly fatigued. Then we’re off again down a long corridor of decay, past room after room of fragile old women.

Eventually we turn into one of these rooms and stop at an empty bed.“Yeah, don’t be too concerned,” shrugs the orderly, “we've had to put you into a women’s ward. It should only be temporary and as soon as a bed becomes available we’ll transfer you into the men’s ward.

”I want to protest, but the truth is I’m grateful just to have a bed and judging by the state of these patients, that vacant bed? It will only be a matter of time.Later that evening, just as I'm getting comfortable and thinking how this, sleeping with the opposite sex, won't be so bad, two nurses arrive to transfer me into the men’s ward.

It turns out I’ve been assigned to a room with three other men who between them, have a combined age of around 350. Opposite me is an Asian guy. At this moment, he’s wandering around his bed, looking like a cat trying to settle. He starts fiddling with the mechanism that raises the bed but after several tries, he looks over at me and shrugs… this being the universal sign for, "How the hell does this thing work?

"Forgetting myself for a moment I go over to his bed and fiddle about till I work out how to adjust the bed. Mission accomplished, he nods, I shrug then I return to my own bed feeling like I've just advanced East-West, relations by twenty years.

To my right, there’s a guy in a beanie, who opens dialogue the moment we make eye contact. He’s Joe, from Newcastle England, an ex-miner with a bit of a chest. He proudly displays his multi compartment pillbox like it's a cluster of medals.

"What do ya think of this lot?” He chuckles.

In the far corner, there’s a breathing skeleton, with a colonoscopy bag. During the night, as I try to doze off, I am constantly interrupted by his mournful death rattles. I have sympathy, but not all is reserved for him. Tonight I beleive I've seen what ill really looks like and wonder if I’m actually witnessing my own ominous, future.

In the morning, after my cold toast breakfast, two nurses arrive from the planet "We talk very loudly." They are here for skeleton man and speak in exaggerated, sing-songy tones, explaining to him and everyone else in the room, exactly what they are doing.

"So Mr Lewis, how are you feeling this morning? Are you ready for your big adventure? Has he eaten anything, have they given you any food this morning dear, no toast, no cup of tea?” Skeleton man remains silent …

“No, I think we're alright Doris, there’s his Nil by Mouth sign, did anybody notice if Mr Lewis had any breakfast?”

"No, I don’t think he’s had anything," pipes in Joe the miner, trying to help. "The sign's there nurse, they wouldn’t ignore the sign."

I feel like I’m watching some sort of demented play, with us, the patients, simply here as a decaying audience. I thank god they're not here for me. Jesus, those two would probably induce a heart attack!

When Mr. Lewis and the Von Trapp sisters finally leave, a precious silence descends on our room. But neither of my fellow inmates seems to have paid the slightest attention to the performance. I suspect that were I to stay here much longer, my own desensitisation would also rapidly advance.

****

Read Part One here.

Read Part Three here.

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