Monday, April 10, 2006
The ER
Anxiety
__________
I could've been looking into a mirror. I saw his face, instinctively mimicked it, drawing the outside of my eyebrows up and forcing my center brow in toward my nose. Oh, this expression I've worn a million times before, but never in His condition, never under watch. The world disappeared momentarily as I involuntarily played back one of the many anxiety attacks I had in Emily's presence.
[
Driving down 89 toward Burlington. Spring. Near Saint Albans. Looking west, the sun was effervescencing on the lake. My heart: pounding. "If I die now..." Something pops in my back. A flood of fear. "I'll never make it..."
"I wish I could help you."
"There is nothing you can do."
"I'm so frustrated. I can't help you? Why does this happen?"
" I don't know." Shaking. Clutching her knee.
"It's ok." Rubs my shoulders. Helps.
Only 26 more miles until Burlington. 26 more minutes until my mind can rest. ]
He was propped up on the gurney, pressure cuff on his right arm, IV in the left attached to a liter of saline, pulse/ox on his right index finger, electrodes connected to his chest. That look on his face.
The room in the ER room was spacious and nearly square. The gurney was in the middle, with a large surgical light array hovering above-like the smiling face of God. A large moveable very sturdy-looking caddy attached to a large boom arm loomed in the rear of the room covered with medical equipment. Urgent, that is the word I thought of when I first noticed it. In the center of the caddy there was a large touch screen displaying all his vitals: blood pressure, heart rate, respiratory rate and a dozen others. I noted, at a glance, that his heart rate still 100 BPM.
He was looking up pass me. I followed his gaze to a flat-screen monitor mounted to the facing wall. It showed the same information as the touch screen behind him.
"How are you feeling?"
I could almost read his mind, his face said it all,
"I can't believe this happened to me. Why did I do this? I just want it to stop."
We had been in the ER for over an hour. The hospital staff had taken a chest x-ray with a huge portable machine, preformed two EKGs and ordered a dose of IV Adivan, at the behest of Him. I believe His exact words were, "Can I get something for the anxiety. Some Adivan? I've had that before. That worked in the past." Past?
"I'm still feeling really nervous. Where is the Adivan?"
"I don't know. I think they had to order it from the pharmacy. The nurse administers it."
"I'm still feeling really nervous."
"Well, that is one of the side-effects of the drug. Try not to look at the your vitals...
I know how you feel..."
'I know how He feels', I repeated in my mind.
I wonder how may people have died on that gurney... He caught me staring at his chest; I had slipped off in mid-sentence.
Snapping to my post immediately, I changed the subject. How to make His heart light? I would periodically glance at his heart-rate and saw it drop 10 to 15 BPM while He was distracted.
The nurse came in, saw the doctor's prescription of Adivan, collected the syringe from a cart and administered it through a port in the IV. The nurse was male, gay. intelligent, tanned skin with whit-blue eyes. More than just good looking, he had a compassionate intellect and the kind stare that made me comfortable in any attempt to communicate. The nurse listened while I described the study, properties and pharmokentics of the drug.
Then He asked for more.
I couldn't blame him. Judgement started to rise within me, that righteousness boiling in the the back of my brain.
"This person does not need another does. He will be fine. He should be straight and not reliant on substances." I thought, I preached
He received the second dose. 2 mg of Adivan in total.
"The half-life of modafinil is..."
"15 hours" I inserted.
"Therefore", he continued, "the modafinil will be in your system for the next 15 times 4 hours. It takes approximately 4 half-lifes for a drug to reach negligible amounts in the body."
This seemed wrong to me. It really depends on the drugs affinity for its target protein or whatever. Anyway...
"What if the nervousness comes back after I leave? Can you give me a script for Adivan, in case it comes back?" He asked.
"Sure."
The righteous boiling judgement came to the surface. I looked at Him, that face. The "I'm worried" face. Relying on drugs...
Then I saw myself, and I was ashamed.
Had I forgotten who I was? This much is true: I'm in no position to judge. I am on 25mg of Zoloft; self medicated.
We were there for 4 hours.
[incomplete]
DAD
The EMT
the nurse
the doctor
the billing
__________
I could've been looking into a mirror. I saw his face, instinctively mimicked it, drawing the outside of my eyebrows up and forcing my center brow in toward my nose. Oh, this expression I've worn a million times before, but never in His condition, never under watch. The world disappeared momentarily as I involuntarily played back one of the many anxiety attacks I had in Emily's presence.
[
Driving down 89 toward Burlington. Spring. Near Saint Albans. Looking west, the sun was effervescencing on the lake. My heart: pounding. "If I die now..." Something pops in my back. A flood of fear. "I'll never make it..."
"I wish I could help you."
"There is nothing you can do."
"I'm so frustrated. I can't help you? Why does this happen?"
" I don't know." Shaking. Clutching her knee.
"It's ok." Rubs my shoulders. Helps.
Only 26 more miles until Burlington. 26 more minutes until my mind can rest. ]
He was propped up on the gurney, pressure cuff on his right arm, IV in the left attached to a liter of saline, pulse/ox on his right index finger, electrodes connected to his chest. That look on his face.
The room in the ER room was spacious and nearly square. The gurney was in the middle, with a large surgical light array hovering above-like the smiling face of God. A large moveable very sturdy-looking caddy attached to a large boom arm loomed in the rear of the room covered with medical equipment. Urgent, that is the word I thought of when I first noticed it. In the center of the caddy there was a large touch screen displaying all his vitals: blood pressure, heart rate, respiratory rate and a dozen others. I noted, at a glance, that his heart rate still 100 BPM.
He was looking up pass me. I followed his gaze to a flat-screen monitor mounted to the facing wall. It showed the same information as the touch screen behind him.
"How are you feeling?"
I could almost read his mind, his face said it all,
"I can't believe this happened to me. Why did I do this? I just want it to stop."
We had been in the ER for over an hour. The hospital staff had taken a chest x-ray with a huge portable machine, preformed two EKGs and ordered a dose of IV Adivan, at the behest of Him. I believe His exact words were, "Can I get something for the anxiety. Some Adivan? I've had that before. That worked in the past." Past?
"I'm still feeling really nervous. Where is the Adivan?"
"I don't know. I think they had to order it from the pharmacy. The nurse administers it."
"I'm still feeling really nervous."
"Well, that is one of the side-effects of the drug. Try not to look at the your vitals...
I know how you feel..."
'I know how He feels', I repeated in my mind.
I wonder how may people have died on that gurney... He caught me staring at his chest; I had slipped off in mid-sentence.
Snapping to my post immediately, I changed the subject. How to make His heart light? I would periodically glance at his heart-rate and saw it drop 10 to 15 BPM while He was distracted.
The nurse came in, saw the doctor's prescription of Adivan, collected the syringe from a cart and administered it through a port in the IV. The nurse was male, gay. intelligent, tanned skin with whit-blue eyes. More than just good looking, he had a compassionate intellect and the kind stare that made me comfortable in any attempt to communicate. The nurse listened while I described the study, properties and pharmokentics of the drug.
Then He asked for more.
I couldn't blame him. Judgement started to rise within me, that righteousness boiling in the the back of my brain.
"This person does not need another does. He will be fine. He should be straight and not reliant on substances." I thought, I preached
He received the second dose. 2 mg of Adivan in total.
"The half-life of modafinil is..."
"15 hours" I inserted.
"Therefore", he continued, "the modafinil will be in your system for the next 15 times 4 hours. It takes approximately 4 half-lifes for a drug to reach negligible amounts in the body."
This seemed wrong to me. It really depends on the drugs affinity for its target protein or whatever. Anyway...
"What if the nervousness comes back after I leave? Can you give me a script for Adivan, in case it comes back?" He asked.
"Sure."
The righteous boiling judgement came to the surface. I looked at Him, that face. The "I'm worried" face. Relying on drugs...
Then I saw myself, and I was ashamed.
Had I forgotten who I was? This much is true: I'm in no position to judge. I am on 25mg of Zoloft; self medicated.
We were there for 4 hours.
[incomplete]
DAD
The EMT
the nurse
the doctor
the billing
# posted by Matt @ 11:43 PM 
