My medical fiasco (3 of 3)

As a contrast from the story above I would like to share a little story of my own.  January 2008, New York.  Me and my friend Fransçios had just finished a solid Thai meal in Chelsea and were headed to Gramercy for an ugly sweater party.  It was cold and I was wearing three thick layers, and so when my back began to itch in a place I couldn’t reach, I backed up to a building corner and made like one of those black bears you see on a nature film (no, I had not been drinking).  A few blocks later I was still itching and we stopped for coffee, now my palms were itchy.  By the time we got to the party I felt funny.  We were there 10 minutes when my stomach started itching and my face felt funny.  I walked into the bathroom to discover I had hives and my lips had begun to swell.  SHIT, anaphylaxis, definitely not a good party look.  I got the address of the nearest emergency room and I split without saying goodbye (the lip thing was somewhat embarrassing).  I walked two block petrified that the reaction would speed up and I would not be able to breathe.  By the time I walked into the florescent-lit white hospital hallway, I was so anxious I could barely get the words “allergic reaction” out of my mouth, but then I really didn’t need to as my lips now appeared as though my plastic surgeon had a seizure during my collagen injection.  They sat me down clipped something on my finger and began asking me questions… someone took my blood pressure and pulse… someone else shot something in my arm… and than something in one of those vitals must have been off because everyone got serious started moving faster.  They layed me down and stuck an IV in and gave me Benadryl.  Just before putting it in a male nurse warned me it might feel funny. 

Suddenly, I felt as through someone poured hot water on my head, then on my stomach, the same intense warmth… and then it shot down my legs.  The shock of it made me try to sit up, but my whole body felt like it weighed ten thousand pounds, and I couldn’t lift my arms.  The epinephrine and steroids came next… but didn’t make a dent in the Benadryl and I felt like I was in a dream.  It was just about this time where a black gentleman walked up to me and began asking me questions about my health insurance.  Communicating was like being tied up and underwater with two big bananas for lips.  All I knew was that he was there to make sure the financial side of my emergency was on track.  When he asked for my ID and Insurance, I’m pretty sure he had to get them out of my purse for me.  Then he asked me to sign several papers. To this day I have no clue what they said… I lifted my hand, but could not hold a paper, much less a pen.  So, he stuck a pen in my hand and closed his hand around mine and I made a scribble motion.  I never saw that signature, but I’m pretty sure it looked like part of a Kandinsky abstract.  And, for all I know I signed a contract to donate my body to science. 

Well, hopefully you get my point.  The U.S. health system is so caught up with paying the bills, it is somewhat inhuman about the process and care.  Someone in anaphylactic shock has no business signing anything, nor worrying about how much the live saving care will cost.