Sometimes in life, it’s the smallest things that make a huge difference.
As some of you reading this probably already know, I was in the ER this past weekend after passing out, hitting my head, and having a mini-seizure at a benefit dance for a college student who died of brain cancer (in the middle of his parents’ speech no less).
Six hours after being admitted, the doctors found nothing wrong and chalked it all up to my super low blood sugar (Note: Don’t skip dinner before a big event) and told me to follow up with a cardiologist just to be sure.
Moral of the story: I’m 100% ok. It could have been much worse and I’m incredibly thankful to God that it wasn’t.
Secondary moral of the story: Nurses are heroes but mine was a superhero.
I woke up after passing out feeling completely fine. My head didn’t hurt. I wasn’t dizzy anymore. I could answer every single question I was asked about where I was and what day it was and what I had been doing etc. I also was able to argue with the EMT about the redeeming qualities of the Les Miserables movie and he told me that I needed an intervention. Obviously he and I did not become best friends.
Anyway, by the time the EMTs
advised me forced me to go to the ER, I was a little more than peeved. And when what should have been a short visit turned into 6+ hours due to the doctors all deciding that my previously-non-threatening-and-still-not-an-issue heart murmur needed further testing, I was pissed off to the maximum. The totally disgusting glucose paste that the EMTs made me eat did not aid in lifting my mood. I was supposed to be dancing the night away to support a great cause. Not sitting in a hospital gown with my dress and heels discarded at the side of the room.
A tiny part of me was also a bit scared since everyone was making such a big deal out of the entire affair and I thought that maybe I was missing something important. I was going to die of rabies or necrotizing fasciitis or something equally horrible and just didn’t know it yet.
Enter: My nurse.
I regret that I was there late at night and for the life of me cannot remember her name because I am in love with her.
Some nurses deal with vomiting, blood, sobbing, hearts that have stopped unexpectedly etc.
Mine had to deal with an irate 19-year old, her mother and entourage of friends. I’m not sure which scenario was preferable.
Superhero deed #1: She allowed my six best friends, who went with me to the hospital, to come back to the ER room when the limit was technically three. She flat-up told us that she had teenagers of her own, we didn’t scare her, and if we went truant in any way she would make us regret it immensely. While I felt fine and I would have been fine with just my mom there, it meant a lot to have my best friends there to make me laugh and be supportive in my “non-emergency emergency.”
Superhero deed #2: She couldn’t make the cute male nurse or the other male doctors leave the room, but she took over the “stick things to my body and help me strip at the same time” debacle and kept me completely covered. I am eternally in her debt for that. Thanks to dance, I’m not that body-conscious but when a bunch of men are in the room (medical professionals or not), I draw a line.
Superhero deed #3: She mercifully let me change back into my regular clothes after the last of my tests were completed and unhooked me from everything so that I could be comfortable while I waited for the results to come back. As a promised 20-minute wait turned into an hour and 20 minute wait, I wanted to hug her for that judgment call. Her comment after agreeing to let me bend the rules was priceless. “I will let you do this but if the results show something and you make me have to re-hook you up, I will kick your ass.” This was said with a smile and two seconds later she offered a heartfelt “I hope you are completely fine,” as she left the room.
LOVE HER. All of these things are relatively small. She didn’t save my life or do any amazing newsworthy deeds. But she made a miserable 6-hour ER visit bearable and was an incredible person.
TJ Oshie of the US Olympic hockey team said “The American heroes are wearing camo. That’s not me.”
I’d like to input that the American heroes are also wearing red and other-colored uniforms, work in too-bright corners of hospitals across the country, and make slightly scared yet very irate 19-year old college students not hate life quite so much.