My Latest Trip to the ER

It wasn’t my first trip to the ER and unfortunately, it probably won’t be my last. But this time I was clearheaded. I was not some screaming statistic on a gurney while the nurses whispered about me like I couldn’t hear them (Spoiler Alert: I could. Being suicidal doesn’t mean you are deaf). This time I had fainted and was showing symptoms of “diabetes insipidus”, a rare disorder characterized by frequent urination. It could be brought on by several of the 13 medications I am on. This time I was lucid when I signed in at the registration desk. I could hear the two nurses at the front desk talking loudly about some porn stars “bush” in front of God and the entire waiting room which included several children. Which was mega awkward seeing as I was sitting between my parents.

After several hours and triage (where they take your vitals and record your symptoms to make sure you don’t die in the waiting room, which I imagine would be an insurance nightmare), I was admitted to the ER on a gurney yet again. This time I was between a guy who was having a panic attack and had no shirt or shoes, and a girl who just slept the entire time. I was impressed with the staff. My doctor had concerns about my lithium levels affecting my kidneys and ordered a battery of tests. He asked me to walk up and down the hall and I almost fell again. I could not stop peeing, I had an unquenchable thirst so they strapped me to an IV. I was taken for a CT scan, I gave blood work and a urine sample and then they took me to a back hallway for an EKG. My technician was sweet.

“Do you normally do EKG’s in hallways?” I asked as she lifted up my shirt to apply the stickers.

“No, but we are at capacity so you didn’t get a room. I figured you could use a little privacy instead of doing this in the middle of the ER,” she said. I really appreciated that. After so little privacy in the mental hospital, I truly did. People display your body without a second thought. They wouldn’t be so free with their own bodies.

I was released somewhere around six in the morning. My glucose levels were elevated but other than that and my bizarre symptoms, everything was normal. I was given instructions to follow up with a doctor (which I am doing tomorrow). I don’t know what that was. But I saw several poor souls in severe states of distress both mental and physical. And it only reiterates my determination to the latest book I am working on: Is This the Best We Can Do? How the Mental Health System is Failing America. I was so grateful I got to go home to my own bed instead of a cold mattress in a psych ward with thin blankets and no peace. It’s the little things.