A hospital stay is a lonely endeavor at this time.
By: Mary Wilson, Opinions Editor
One afternoon a few weeks ago, I was instructed to go to the nearest emergency room by my doctor. This is not that unusual of an occurrence for me: I have Crohn’s disease, a chronic incurable illness that affects the GI tract, that has made me very sick for the past two years. This means that I’m in the ER and urgent care centers more often than the average human.
I know the routine: check in, triage, vitals, wait, back to a room, exam, tests, wait, then admission to the hospital or discharge paperwork and follow up instructions. My mom or dad usually stays at least part of the time in the ER with me, which I’m grateful for: even though I’m used to hospitals, they can still be lonely.
That day, however, my mom dropped me off in the ER parking lot. There was a tent outside with nurses in gloves, masks, gowns and visors. My temperature was taken before I even had a chance to tell my mom goodbye. I was given a mask and gloves and was asked if I had a cough, fever or shortness of breath. Since I didn’t have any of the symptoms of COVID-19, I was taken in through a separate entrance.
I’m not easily scared by hospitals, but I’ll be honest: I was a little scared when I saw the doctors and nurses in full PPE. The usually-busy ER was mostly empty. Sitting in the exam room with my mask and gloves on, I felt like I was in a simulation.
The doctors decided I needed to be admitted for more tests and IV medicines, and once the floor nurses had completed their assessments, I was alone.
I felt like a little kid: I wanted my mom and dad. No matter how many times I go to the hospital, it’s nerve wracking to be admitted. The pain medicines I had been given in the ER made me feel out of it and sad. Even though I knew I needed to be in the hospital for treatment, all I wanted to do was go home.
I was scheduled for a colonoscopy two days after I was admitted. As I sat in bed in the endoscopy suite, waiting to be taken back to the procedure room, I kept looking at the chair next to me, expecting my mom or dad to be there.
I was discharged that afternoon. The medicines I received worked, and I’m feeling much better now.
The ER is where people go for emergencies. Even though I was in so much pain I couldn’t stand up straight or talk without gasping in pain, had lost 20 pounds in two weeks, had a fever, high pulse and was dehydrated, I waited it out at home as long as I possibly could. The message we all got was to STAY HOME. I didn’t want to get the coronavirus from being in a hospital with people who were there to be tested, or with people who were critically ill, on ventilators. I didn’t want to take time and resources away from people who might need them more. However, I reminded myself, chronic illness doesn’t stop just because there’s a pandemic.
