As I mentioned in the last post, despite the fact that I drove to the ER and walked in on my own two feet, the local doctors decided the way to get me up to Brigham & Women's Hospital in Boston was by ambulance. The team at my local hospital had been very kind to me, lots of compassionate and pitying smiles. I know they were trying to help but every look seemed to scream “this poor woman is probably dying tomorrow” and I was starting to get [even more] freaked out. I needed to joke, to make light of this, to be assured that this would ultimately be nothing. Every gentle smile from the local doctors and nurses seemed to put me further from that mindset.
The ambulance dudes seemed fairly solid. Two guys who knew each other well and did runs like this often, they had a bit of a comedy routine with each other, but still seemed able to be professional. They were waiting on some paperwork, since they were about 20 minutes earlier than the nurse thought they’d be. I got on their stretcher and they fastened me in. I resisted the urge to ask if they was necessary - the surreality of feeling more or less fine but being loaded up into an ambulance was starting to hit hard. They checked my blood pressure while the nurse gave them a rundown on me and the reason for the whole deal.
No sooner did she finish her recitation than one of them noted my blood pressure seemed a little high. I craned my neck to try to make eye contact as I drily pointed out that the discovery of a brain abnormality might have a little something to do with the elevated blood pressure. He shrugged good-naturedly and then they wheeled me out and put me in the ambulance.
This was the strangest day of my life, no question.
One EMT drove and the other rode in the back with me, assuring me he had paperwork to handle.
But then… we drove by a house that was flying an upside down American flag in their front yard. The guy in back with me commented on how upset that makes him, a Veteran. We agreed the homeowners probably thought they were making some political statement - the upside down flag symbolizes a country in distress. I mentioned how I often find it frustrating to see tattered and ratty flags flying off the back of trucks, when the flag is supposed to be taken care of, brought in out of the rain, etc. We seemed to be on the same page, but then the conversation detoured into uncomfortably political territory, with many a conspiracy theory coming from my co-passenger-in-the-back…
I was finally able to “oh, uh-huh” and “hmmm. Wow” my way through his diatribe. He eventually seemed to get the hint that I was not up for engaging in this line of talk, and he set about his paperwork as I FaceTimed Derek and the boys.
My chariot ambulance arrived at Brigham & Women's Hospital in Boston a little before 6pm, after about an hour (a minor miracle during rush hour in the Greater Boston area). Still strapped onto the gurney thing, I was unloaded into a large, modern, and bustling Emergency Department. They have sections named for streets near the site of the Boston Marathon bombing and rooms are numbered accordingly.
After sitting (still on my gurney) at a registration desk for a few moments, where I confirmed the absence of COVID symptoms and I had to uncomfortably shout my weight out to the person doing the check in, they rolled me through the labyrinth of hallways to the bay where I would be seen. I ended up in the Fairfield section, so my room/bay was F-something. Maybe 80?
Doesn't matter.
I had made it to the next level of care, eager for answers but trying desperately to be patient. (Not really my strong suit)
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