A Lighter View
Commentary From the Editor:

I Feel Your Pain
I have a bad back, a very bad back, and, recently, I paid a visit to my local emergency department suffering from a herniated disk. Actually, I had not planned on visiting the ED. I had very carefully shuffled my way to a taxi, intending to make the short trip to my doctor’s office. It was not to be.

At the exact moment, my derriere (use whatever term you like: butt, behind or #!*) hit the seat, intense pain wracked my body, and, while screaming, crying and gasping for breath, I changed plans.

So there I was in the ED telling the triage nurse about my pain. And, of course, I was told to take a seat in the very populated waiting room and wait my turn to see a doctor. Now, we all know too well that our nation’s EDs are in crisis. (You live it every day.) So, I took my place among the other emergencies and stood, not sat, determined to be patient (well, I actually was a patient by then, forgive the double entendre).

(Skip to my consultation with the physician)

Now, curled up on a stretcher, I told the doctor my story (history of degenerating disks, pain; you know the drill: blah, blah, blah). He listened. He was not moved. “I see at least one patient a week with a herniated disk, and I currently have a whole line of patients with herniated disks waiting for beds,” he said. I felt his pain.

I agreed with him about not wanting to be admitted. (I have gone this route before; once spending 12 days in the hospital after turning my dancing disks into a herniated one at my daughter’s wedding.) I tried to bond with him (“The Emergency Nurses Association is advocating for change, so I get it.”). I gladly accepted the pain medicine (thank you, thank you, thank you) and, physically comforted at last, took myself to lunch.

Three months later, following MRIs, X-rays, surgical consultations, two epidurals and weeks of physical therapy, I think about that emergency visit and am grateful for the ED care and to the doctor who kept me from becoming another crowding statistic. My back is better, and I am back (again, double entendre) at work. It’s the backbone of emergency care that is screaming, crying and gasping for breath. And it is the emergency care personnel who are tending to its pain.

Note: My recent herniated disk was not caused by dancing; I now feel the beat within and leave the bunny hop, twist and swing to my contemporaries. No, this time it was at the grocery store lifting (I know, I should have known better) a heavy tray (yes, an oblong, cardboard, cellophane-ensconced tray) with 24 diet Snapple® bottles (who packages these things anyway?) !@*! those heavy-lifting-belted delivery people. They must have seen me coming.