it's nothing to worry about, just a small peanut attack
I just got back from the hospital and I feel exhausted.
Around two or so I got up in the middle of a conversation with Kaitlin on gmail and went to see the Muzzer, who I’d heard come in earlier. I found both her and Jesse in the front hall, Muzzer barely sitting up, nitro spray in hand, gasping for air; obviously having an angina attack, or worse, a heart attack. I knew this was going to happen one day, as Muzz has heart problems but it was so random. I asked her if she needed to go to the hospital and she just shook her head. I tried asking her if she took an aspirin, as that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re having a heart attack, but she couldn’t talk. Eventually she asked someone to call an ambulance and Jesse did as I ran to get dressed.
They showed up and Muzzer asked me to come with her. I didn’t know what was more frightening, going to the hospital, which I am deathly afraid of, or the fact my Muzzer was having a heart attack. The guy told me to wait in the passenger seat and I watched through the little window in the ambulance as they hooked her up and began to take tests.
It became clear that she wasn’t having a heart attack, or at least, the paramedics didn’t think whatever was happening was too severe. The entire time I was just completely calm and collected, which is terribly odd as I’m usually all over the place and a complete emotional wreck. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. It’s just that I’m very empathic, just like my Muzzer, and I pick up on other people’s emotions. When people are worried, I’m worried. When people are sad and crying, I begin to cry, despite finding whatever they’re crying about depressing or not. The paramedics were very calm about the entire ordeal, so I also was.
The ambulance was boiling hot and I remember seething about how much gas they were wasting idling in front of my house with the heat on full blast. I was tempted to turn off the heat or crank down the window but I was terrified I was going to break something (you should have seen all the buttons! I felt like I was in a plane or something). We must have been sitting in the front of my driveway for at least fifteen minutes. Jesse confirms this, so it wasn’t just the emotional stress that seemed to make the time drag on. Eventually Muzz began to talk again, as the pain was lessening, and they conversed, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. It was decided eventually that she was stable and the guy paramedic got into the driver’s seat and we went off.
After almost hitting a dog (I had to warn the bloody man, as he didn’t even notice it) we got onto the highway and drove to the Met. Pearl Jam’s Last Kiss came on over the radio and the driver was singing along quietly, driving almost leisurely. I wanted to yell at him and tell him that my Muzzer drives even faster than he does, but I restrained myself. At least his nonchalance comforted me, knowing that if he was driving this slowly it mustn’t be too bad.
We got to the hospital and signed the Muzzer in, in the hallway, the paramedics and the nurses joking to each other. Eventually they brought her into a room and immediately five nurses came in and began poking, prodding, hooking up and taking tests. Ugh, now I remember why I hate hospitals. It’s not like I’m scared of needles, I mean come on, I got a tattoo when I was thirteen (fourteen?) and I watch the Muzzer give herself shots all the time (she’s diabetic), but I can’t stand the long needles and the smell of hospital and the constant beeping and the people hacking up their lungs and wailing in pain. There was this one woman who sounded like she was singing opera as she wailed out, “Ow,” over and over again. It makes me shiver just remembering.
An hour later or so, just when I was going to call the Father to tell him which hospital we were at, he showed up. And so we waited, and waited, and remarked on how shitty the hospital was and how odd it was that their paint and their dishes matched. More tests were done, more xrays were taken, more bitching commenced.
Around five or six or so this heart doctor came in and he told us that it probably wasn’t a heart attack, but maybe gull stones or something. What he was saying made no sense to me as he contradicted himself and failed so explain things properly, like why the pain was on this side and then went to the other side when gull stones are usually in one place, but I didn’t speak up. Father and I left to go home after that, to get something to eat and bring Muzzer something and here I am.
She should be home after nine or so, and I guess she has to check out to see if she has any gull stones in the future. All I can say is; what utter crap. Why can’t you do it now?
I’ve lost all faith in the medical field (not like I had any to begin with, as almost every doctor I’ve even known is a complete bastard). Fascists, the lot of them!
Around two or so I got up in the middle of a conversation with Kaitlin on gmail and went to see the Muzzer, who I’d heard come in earlier. I found both her and Jesse in the front hall, Muzzer barely sitting up, nitro spray in hand, gasping for air; obviously having an angina attack, or worse, a heart attack. I knew this was going to happen one day, as Muzz has heart problems but it was so random. I asked her if she needed to go to the hospital and she just shook her head. I tried asking her if she took an aspirin, as that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re having a heart attack, but she couldn’t talk. Eventually she asked someone to call an ambulance and Jesse did as I ran to get dressed.
They showed up and Muzzer asked me to come with her. I didn’t know what was more frightening, going to the hospital, which I am deathly afraid of, or the fact my Muzzer was having a heart attack. The guy told me to wait in the passenger seat and I watched through the little window in the ambulance as they hooked her up and began to take tests.
It became clear that she wasn’t having a heart attack, or at least, the paramedics didn’t think whatever was happening was too severe. The entire time I was just completely calm and collected, which is terribly odd as I’m usually all over the place and a complete emotional wreck. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. It’s just that I’m very empathic, just like my Muzzer, and I pick up on other people’s emotions. When people are worried, I’m worried. When people are sad and crying, I begin to cry, despite finding whatever they’re crying about depressing or not. The paramedics were very calm about the entire ordeal, so I also was.
The ambulance was boiling hot and I remember seething about how much gas they were wasting idling in front of my house with the heat on full blast. I was tempted to turn off the heat or crank down the window but I was terrified I was going to break something (you should have seen all the buttons! I felt like I was in a plane or something). We must have been sitting in the front of my driveway for at least fifteen minutes. Jesse confirms this, so it wasn’t just the emotional stress that seemed to make the time drag on. Eventually Muzz began to talk again, as the pain was lessening, and they conversed, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. It was decided eventually that she was stable and the guy paramedic got into the driver’s seat and we went off.
After almost hitting a dog (I had to warn the bloody man, as he didn’t even notice it) we got onto the highway and drove to the Met. Pearl Jam’s Last Kiss came on over the radio and the driver was singing along quietly, driving almost leisurely. I wanted to yell at him and tell him that my Muzzer drives even faster than he does, but I restrained myself. At least his nonchalance comforted me, knowing that if he was driving this slowly it mustn’t be too bad.
We got to the hospital and signed the Muzzer in, in the hallway, the paramedics and the nurses joking to each other. Eventually they brought her into a room and immediately five nurses came in and began poking, prodding, hooking up and taking tests. Ugh, now I remember why I hate hospitals. It’s not like I’m scared of needles, I mean come on, I got a tattoo when I was thirteen (fourteen?) and I watch the Muzzer give herself shots all the time (she’s diabetic), but I can’t stand the long needles and the smell of hospital and the constant beeping and the people hacking up their lungs and wailing in pain. There was this one woman who sounded like she was singing opera as she wailed out, “Ow,” over and over again. It makes me shiver just remembering.
An hour later or so, just when I was going to call the Father to tell him which hospital we were at, he showed up. And so we waited, and waited, and remarked on how shitty the hospital was and how odd it was that their paint and their dishes matched. More tests were done, more xrays were taken, more bitching commenced.
Around five or six or so this heart doctor came in and he told us that it probably wasn’t a heart attack, but maybe gull stones or something. What he was saying made no sense to me as he contradicted himself and failed so explain things properly, like why the pain was on this side and then went to the other side when gull stones are usually in one place, but I didn’t speak up. Father and I left to go home after that, to get something to eat and bring Muzzer something and here I am.
She should be home after nine or so, and I guess she has to check out to see if she has any gull stones in the future. All I can say is; what utter crap. Why can’t you do it now?
I’ve lost all faith in the medical field (not like I had any to begin with, as almost every doctor I’ve even known is a complete bastard). Fascists, the lot of them!