A night at the ER
I went to the ER last night. About once a month for the last few months, I’ve been having really crippling stomach cramps and pains, between my belly button and my rib cage. They’ve been pretty clearly linked in my mind with eating lots of rich food – deep dish pizza, really thick soup, etc – and even though they hurt and suck, I’ve been able to take antacids and make them go away. The antacids took maybe 20 or 30 minutes to kick in, but when they did it was like turning off a light switch: the pain was gone.
Last night, though, I took antacids and Pepto-Bismol, and the pain just kept getting worse. Finally, at 3AM, after having been pacing and panting and rolling on my bed since midnight, trying to find a comfortable spot, I asked my roommate to drive me to the ER.
This was really scary for me, first, because going to the ER is really scary. It’s stating, “This problem is big enough and important enough it can’t wait to be dealt with.” And, often, “This problem is painful enough that it can’t wait to be dealt with.” On top of that, though, I’ve heard all sorts of horror stories about trans men and women (usually women) being the targets of really bigoted and offensive attention by hospital staff. Of trans individuals having treatment delayed, delivered with scorn or derision, or denied all together. I felt somewhat protected by having my roommate come with me, and somewhat protected by the shield of white and middle/upper class privilege I know I wear, but I still wasn’t sure how things would go. (On top of that, I went to the ER deciding to make a conscious effort to try and be really nice and friendly with people, even when I was in pain. I think that’s always good advice, to start from a place of friendliness, but particularly if you’re the vulnerable or powerless one in a situation.)
We got there and I started answering the front desk’s questions about my contact info, my emergency contact info, and my insurance. While doing this, I asked my roommate to get me some water, but was told that you’re not allowed to eat or drink if you come in with abdominal pain. (Because they don’t know what’s causing it, or what could exacerbate it. And if they do need to operate, they want as little in there as possible.)
That caused me to start crying for the first time that night. (And I think the only time, though I’ll need to ask my roommate to confirm.) I just felt so helpless and frustrated with my body, scared about what was going to happen, and powerless to control this one tiny little thing that I wanted: a drink of water.
I did calm down before we were called back by the intake nurse, who was very nice, but was my first (of a few) encounters where I was asked something about my menstrual cycle or whether i was pregnant. Definitely better than not assuming those are issues for me, but did make me have to go through the quick-n-dirty “I’m transsexual, I don’t have the equipment for either of those things.” Fortunately, even though I did have to say that to three or four different nurses and doctors in the first hour I was there, none of them brought it up again or (as far as I could tell) treated me any differently than I would expect.
The kindness and professionalism of the staff really ended up meaning that the ER trip was no more unpleasant than an ER trip is supposed to be, rather than making it pleasant. I mean, it wasn’t fun but I’m really glad the staff at the hospital were so professional.
I was there from 3AM until about 10AM, but don’t really have that concept of time in my memory. First, I was feeling really shitty and drifting in and out of light sleep whenever the room wasn’t occupied by a doctor or nurse. Second, as the morning wore on, they gave me morphine to help with the pain, which also removed any dim concept of time I’d been able to hold on to. And third, it’s just kind of hard to track time when sitting in the same room, with occasional breaks of being carted to the ultrasound room or for a cat scan.
After the ultrasound, at about 6AM, I finally called my mom. I’d been waiting until about 6, because I know that’s when she usually gets up and I didn’t want to wake her. She picked up the phone with an immediate, “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean? I can’t call at 6AM without something being wrong?”
She was less amused by my wit than I was. “Becca, what’s wrong?”
I explained where I was and what had happened, and she hopped in her car and was at the hospital by about 7AM, finally relieving my roommate from duty and letting her go home and back to bed.
I always feel torn when my mom is around for medical situations of mine. On the one hand, I was exhausted and morphined-up, and in no position to make any informed decisions about my medical needs. And I do love that she so quickly jumps into “protecting my baby” mode. At the same time, it does make me feel like less of an adult. Like I can’t handle things myself. (Even though, being totally honest, I couldn’t handle things myself. Had I driven myself there, like I’d considered, I would have needed to stay for hours longer to get in a position where I could consider driving a car. Not to mention being scared and alone at the ER sounds that much worse than being scared with someone.)
Shortly after my mom got there, I was taken for a cat scan, which was kind of cool. Being able to see all the pieces spin as it got a cross section imagine of my abdomen was quite nifty, even discounting the effects the morphine had on my perception of ‘nifty.’ The cat scan confirmed what the ultrasound had indicated, that all of my organs – and particularly my gallbladder and appendix – where fine. That was very good news, but also meant the doctors weren’t 100% sure where the pain was coming from. Their best guess was – anticlimactically – constipation. This was a big surprise to me, as I thought I was pretty “regular,” but I guess not… They gave me some over-the-counter meds, and my mom drove me home so I could go to bed.
So that was my night at the ER. I learned:
- Hospital staff aren’t automatically transphobic, even if they may be uneducated about trans issues
- My gallbladder, appendix, and other organs are fine (thank goodness!)
- I’m not as “regular” as I thought I was
- Morphine is amazing
And knowing is half the battle.
Themocracy
I’m suprized they gave you morphine. As one of the side effects of morphine is constipation.
I hope your starting to feel better and that you are “Normal” again
Hmm. I didn’t know that. I assume they gave it to me because, at the time, they assumed the issue was my gallbladder or appendix. They were saying things like “We’re expecting to see it inflamed on this scan,” which made me feel like they were trying to mentally prepare me for surgery. Fortunately, the issue was much less serious, but it’s a shame the morphine may have exacerbated it.
hmmmm. not to alarm you, but your symptoms may also have something to do with celiac disease. if they’ve been recurring a lot (on the back of the foods you mention), you might want to talk to a doctor about investigating that.
No worries, and thanks for the possible heads-up. I’m getting the contact info from my mom for her gastroenterologist (I can’t possibly have spelled that correctly) so am planning to go and talk to a doc who focuses on digestive issues.
R my be up to something re:celiac.
My most recent hospitalization (on March 16 and March 17) was for gallstone pancreatitis; the pain meds I was given (before any diagnoses had been made) was diluadid, and I strongly suspect that that’s what you would have gotten too.
And while I am also impressed by the efficacy of dilaudid, it does cause constipation (at least that’s what I’ve been told- neither of my experiences taking it has produced that symptom).
Which hospital was it? I’ve been thinking that it would be a very good thing if somebody put together trans people’s experiences in various hospitals (particularly ERs) as a heads up for other trans people.
I was at Swedish Covenant, which is on Foster. I did go with a friend, which ultimately probably helped… But even in my out-of-it state, I felt like they were being totally respectful and professional.
Oh, having a friend or family member ALWAYS helps, I’ve learnt the hard way on that one.
But sadly sometimes it by no means guarantees respectful – let alone competent – care.
I think the thing is not that you will always 100% of the time get really shitty care as a trans person, but that you can never be sure. I’ve had to beg doctors to prescribe me medication, when they were quite happy to kick me out of the ER with nothing (“take an Advil” to me losing control over my limbs and being unable to walk).
And yeah, I think that willingness had everything to do with my being trans and hence undesirable, disposable etc to a certain kind of mindset.
I’m glad you were treated well this time, but I honestly feel like it’s 50/50 at best if they know you’re trans.
That makes a lot of sense. If I have a choice in the future, I’ll also try to make sure I choose where I’m going. I now feel moderately comfortable about going to Swedish Covenant, and would also feel comfortable going to most of the hospitals up in the suburbs.
Of course, you’re right: none of this – going to a hospital where you’ve received good care in the past, going with a friend, etc – guarantees anything. But hopefully it’ll tip the odds a bit.
As an afterthought, I also want to note that I’m white and had insurance. I can only imagine those – in aggregate – have an effect on care, too. (Unfortunately.)
As an afterthought, constipation can be caused by a variety of things- has your thyroid function been tested recently?
It hasn’t, but I’ll keep that in mind when I go see the doc whose number my mom gave me.