ER Adventures

“He’s back and he wants to take me again!” I yelled between hacking coughs in the general direction of the hospital intercom. I felt a sudden tinge of panic- the type of panic someone who has followed orders to a tee their whole life might feel if they were suddenly going against orders. Don’t let him take me!

Okay, fine, maybe I didn’t yell but I was speaking very loudly not knowing how poor or great the technology was. I was also half-lying on a hospital bed trying to maneuver my body enough to speak into the wall intercom located directly behind me while trying not to flash anyone in my loose hospital gown. I was met with confusion on the other end.

“Who… is trying to take you?” The male voice over the intercom asked carefully.
*awkward silence*
“Can you just get Alyssa, please? She was the nurse helping me.”

It’s been over a week since Covid barged into our home. At first, the symptoms were mild and hardly made a dent in my usual zest for life but two days in and I was ready to rip off my nose. The congestion was putting unbearable pressure on the middle of my face. Then came the dreaded cough. I always knew if I caught Covid I’d have a rough time given my history of lingering coughs. Usually when a cold virus makes its way into my system, the cold itself stays for about a week, but the cough pitches a tent and calls me home for about 4-6 weeks. I didn’t think this was average, but I also didn’t realize it was abnormal.

The day before my ER visit, I’d had a rough night racked with a dry, nagging cough and what I noticed to be shallow breathing. I decided I’d wait for a reasonable hour to call my doctor’s office in the morning to see if my concerns warranted a visit to the nearest hospital. I chose hospital not because I felt it was of an urgent nature but because if I had to do any further testing (i.e. chest x-ray), it would be more readily available compared to if I went to a walk-in clinic on a Sunday morning.

Upon arrival to the make-shift triage area of the hospital, I was seated in the “Covid-positive” section and I found myself trying to maintain my dignity by impossibly suppressing a few coughing fits so as not to garner any further attention from others. After an hour of furiously chugging water and popping cough lozenges like my life depended on it, I was finally put into my own room to wait for further assessment.

A nurse eventually walked into my room and went through all the testing that would be done. As she was explaining all this, I happened to notice the name on her hospital badge was Alyssa and I thought at once, I better remember that. She explained that I would do a short walk test around the room so she could gage my blood oxygen level while in motion. Then she showed me two separate puffers I needed to inhale at specific intervals (two rounds each), in order to open up my lungs enough for the chest x-ray I’d need to undergo later. After the last round of inhalers, I was instructed to press the call button for the nursing station to let them know I was done so that we could begin counting down 2 hours to my x-ray test.

Well, I was in the middle of my first round of inhalers desperately trying to stay focused on what count I was on when a gentleman knocked on my door to let me know he was there to take me for my x-ray test. I panicked and that’s when I pressed the call bell for my nurse, dramatically telling the nursing station they were trying to take me away.

Hours later, after a few tests and physical exams, I was told what I had already subconsciously suspected. I am asthmatic. The doctor referred me to an outpatient clinic for further follow-up at a later date. She also recommended I get myself a small, portable oximeter to monitor my blood oxygen levels at home. I left with a prescribed inhaler (my asthmatic friend calls this the “rescue” inhaler) for my coughing fits which turns out to be asthma attacks.

I suddenly thought of the many times in my life when a “rescue” inhaler would have saved me much embarrassment:
*uncontrollably coughing in class while writing an exam
*hacking my brains out on a crowded train
*suppressing my cough while sitting in the Covid section of the hospital waiting room

I slowly realized the universe was subtly telling me I was asthmatic for as long as I can remember: my associated family history, my sister urging me to get asthma-tested, my own medical history of never-ending coughing spells, and my prescribed puffer to use at night during the dry winter months. I just wasn’t ready to listen to the universe, I suppose.

Now that I’m here, I choose to look at this in a positive light and use this to my full advantage. 
Husband: Can you get me a water?
Me: No, I can’t. I have asthma. Why don’t you get me a stick of gum and a water with a lemon wedge?
Sister: OMG, you need to try this new workout program I’ve been following! 
Me: Sorry, I can’t. I don’t want to give up my crispy chicken skin. Plus, I have asthma. 

Suddenly, I’ve become the ambassador for the National Asthma Association (this isn’t real, at least I don’t think so), eager to spread the word about the affliction of my asthmatic friends alike.

Hello, my name is drama queen Jen, I have issues asthma, hear me roar cough! 

P.S. Asthma is a common condition, but can be a serious health issue if left undiagnosed and untreated. Speak with your trusted healthcare provider if you suspect you might be asthmatic too.

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