After a failed attempt to spend the day at the beach, I decided to go looking for cake decorating classes and meet my sister and friend to bake cupcakes afterwards.  I told them I’d only be gone an hour.

But, as I’m leaving the craft store, I get a call from The Boy asking if I’d like to meet up for a quick bite.  I stupidly agree and meet him at a sandwich shop we’ve been to 80 million other times.  Only this time I start having trouble breathing for no reason.  By the time we get back to The Boy’s place, I’m having a full-blown asthma attack.  And I don’t have my inhaler.  And he has plans to see a show with his friend in less than an hour.  And I’m supposed to be home already.  I tell him to go get ready for the show, horribly embarrassed by what’s happening.  He refuses to leave me and decides we’re going to the hospital.  I start turning blue on the way and scare the crap out of him.  He holds my hand, while driving scarily fast and basically carries me into the ER.  (# of people’s days ruined: 5)

At this point I’m coughing and wheezing so badly that I can’t speak.  The Boy gives the triage nurse all my information, and they take me in…ahead of the 15+ people glaring at me from the waiting room.

We then meet the worst nurse in the world.  The Boy had called my mother and begins rattling off the list of medications I take, how long the attack’s been going on, and the medication that usually helps.  Completely ignoring him, she takes my vitals, and makes an irritated comment about how I’m “not that bad” based on my SpO2 reading.  (Which is normally 99-100%, and has always been above 95% during an attack.  This reading was 92%.)  Had I been able to speak, I would’ve told her that my 1) SpO2 actually increases when I’m anxious…you know, like when I can’t freaking breathe, and 2) This is the lowest reading I’ve ever had.  When listening to my lungs, she gets irritated because I’m being “uncooperative” by not taking a deep breath for her.  When she finally gives me the nebulizer treatment, she gives me the wrong medication.  And leaves.  I’m turning blue and she leaves.  She gives me two more treatments, which don’t do anything but make me shake uncontrollably.

Through all of this, The Boy stays with me….holding my hand, rubbing my back, telling me it’ll be okay.

Finally, a PA comes in the room and listens.  A moment later, the nurse reappears with another nebulizer treatment and the oral form of the steroid the ER usually gives me via IV.  She hands me the medication and immediately turns to leave.  Before I take the pill, I notice it’s 5x my usual dose and stop her.  I try, politely, to explain that I’d prefer a lower dose of the faster-acting IV form.  She scoffs, tells me to “just take the pill, you’re not on any other medication anyway” and leaves before either of us can tell her off.  Close to tears, I take the pill and hope for the best.

The last nebulizer treatment quiets my cough, and 45 minutes later I feel the steroids kicking in.  While we wait for the PA to discharge me, The Boy holds me while I continue to shake uncontrollably.

When I finally get home, it’s five hours later than I’d planned.  I feel terrible for blowing off my sister and friend, for ruining The Boy’s plans, and for scaring/disappointing my parents.

Grand Total # of People’s Days Ruined: 7

 

 

 

 

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