Unfiltered Story #237766

I was having a lot of trouble breathing and felt god awful, so I went to a local immediate care center. I ended up having an x-ray taken of my chest, and was diagnosed with the flu. I went home and was told to take off work for the week and rest.

That night however, my breathing worsened and my body ached worse than before, despite having laid in bed all day since coming home from the care center. My mom happened to be in town, and she and my husband decided (over the phone) to take me to the E.R. because I could barely communicate due to lack of air.

I asked them to take me to a certain hospital because this particular hospital was affiliated with the care center and would be able to obtain my records/x-ray faster than the usual hospital I prefer for emergencies. However, this hospital has a reputation for having an influx of heavy drug users as patients due to the surrounding area. When my mom was waiting for us to arrive just outside the E.R. doors, (she was staying at a hotel and got there before us) a guard actually asked her to step inside the E.R. department instead of waiting outside, for her own safety.

We get there, and I’m in bad enough shape to need a wheelchair. (Note that I am dressed in an over sized hoodie and pajama pants because it is 2 am). Initial tests reveal I’m running a high fever, and I’m asked to remove my outer layers as much as possible, without getting naked since I’m waiting for a bed. I get the shakes because I am freezing cold after removing the layers.

Eventually a middle-aged doctor comes in and starts speaking to me. It’s hard for us to communicate because I can barely breathe, I’m shaking from cold/fever, I can barely speak, and my neighbor is having her stomach pumped beyond the curtain next to me.

Doctor: What seems to be the problem?

Me (wheezing): I hurt…can’t…..breathe…

Doctor: (snapping) SPEAK UP! I can’t hear you!

Husband: She said, “She hurts, and can’t breathe.”

Doctor: I have to hear it from her.

Husband: But she CAN’T speak loudly because she can BARELY breathe!

Doctor continues to treat me curtly, and by his attitude he makes it clear that he believes I am on drugs. (When I responded that I don’t smoke, drink, or do drugs, he snorted as if that was impossible and generally treated me less than kind.) He listens to my lungs and tells me begrudgingly we will “run some tests and give you a breathing treatment”, then leaves.

After a few tests, an x-ray, blood being drawn, and a breathing treatment, he comes back a few hours later-and his attitude has visibly improved. He has a bounce in his step as he walks across the room to me, a smile on his face, and a glow that he certainly lacked before.

Doctor (very excitedly): Your blood work is pristine! No drugs in your system. It looks like your flu is developing into bronchitis. I want to check your lungs to see if the breathing treatment has helped.

(I breathe, he listens. I feel a huge difference, and he hears the difference.)

Doctor: Wow, you sound so much better than you did!

Me (thinking): No shit, Sherlock, I can breathe again!

On the way home, I spoke with my husband about the experience. And we both agreed that although there was no need for him to be an ass to me, (whether he thought I was on drugs or not) that he was clearly burnt out on treating patients who were on some form of drugs. (The lady who had her stomach pumped in the bed next to me, later on was being watched over by a police officer, waiting to take her to county. She ended up going to the I.C.U. instead for her overdose.)