My recent, unplanned, and unscheduled trip to the hospital with a heart attack left me with a few observations I'd like to jot down. First, let me say, that all of the medical professionals with whom I came into contact were invariably kind, of inexhaustible good cheer, and under the circumstances, coping with a veritable flood of people. When I arrived in the emergency room last Tuesday for what would be a more-than-twelve-hour stay there, I was not alone. One gentleman whom I struck up a conversation with had been there twelve hours already, just waiting for a room to open up for him. Three other gentlemen and two ladies were in similar situations, and had waited similarly long times.
It is not with the individual nurses or doctors that I have a beef, but rather, with some of the "indicators" and messages the hospital itself was sending. And that message was "one size fits all."
When I was wheeled into the emergency room on the gurney, the first thing I saw was a sign that (paraphrasing a bit) said this:
It is the policy of St. XXXXX's Hospital that all patients and staff must be masked at all times."
Now here I was, more or less gasping for breath, and checked in with "respiratory distress" (meaning that for whatever reason I couldn't breathe) and the hospital was not practicing medicine with me, it was executing a policy upon me, and everyone else. One of those gentlemen with whom I shared the ER that day and night was an elderly gentleman who, again, had already been there several hours waiting for a room, suffering acute bronchitis, who, like me, was made to wear a mask. In both our cases, we finally received oxygen bottles, and while those gave some relief to both of us, we both finally gave up, and snuck as many breaths unmasked as we could. Fortunately, the ER administrators gave the nod and wink.
After all, the policy was absurd, and it wasn't medicine.
At least in my case, the one size fits all ended as soon as they figured out I was having a heart attack... some twelve to thirteen hours after I was admitted to the emergency room.
Then came "the look". We all know what hospitals are like: they're like Minos' labyrinth, and you're lucky to get some sort of Ariadne's thread to help you find your way around the place and its mazes of hallways, additions, new buildings, old doors, banks of elevators, and avoid the Minotaur/charge nurse. So while being wheeled around from one department to the other and answering the same questions over and over again, on more than one occasion I got "the look": are you "injected" (my word not theirs) against Covid? When I responded no, and I wasn't going to be either, I received "the look." On one occasion, the only really unpleasant one, a "medical professional" proceeded to lecture me on how I was endangering everyone else. Now, the beauteous irony of that was that the emergency room had done a covid test, which came back negative. So the upshot was, I was "getting the message" to receive an injection for something I didn't have, which injections have been known to cause adverse reactions like heart inflammation and heart attack, and there I was, suffering a heart attack and congestive heart failure and about to be catheterized, angioplastied, stinted and pumped full of more get-rid-of-the-excess-water drugs than the Three Gorges Dam!
In short, it was the sum total of these "little things" that make me wonder: has the planscamdemic made this country - and the practice of
medicine policy - completely mad!?!?
Well that's it for today's little blog. As I mentioned, I may or may not be back this week with more blogs... right now it very much depends on my energy and rate of recovery.
Thank all of you again for your support and prayers, and
I'll see you on the flip side...