We talked a little more about the ER visit.
Before any of the oddities of that visit began I had to deal with my name change. I guess I was there years upon years ago and they still had me with my old name but same social security number. They denied all of my ID with a photo or anything at all associated with medical insurance. They kept calling me by the old name. I made it very clear that they could call me by MY name or even a number but the other name wasn’t an option.
The way the name situation got resolved was they accepted my car insurance as ID. They looked at my MasterCard as ID too but I refused to let them scan it or write down the number. Instead of correcting the old information they set up two accounts under the same social security number which means each time I go in there (yeah right, like I’m going back) I can deal with the ‘are you who you say you are’ crap. So, I dealt with being called by my birth name several times before all the real drama started. One thing I kept trying to remember was to answer to my name of choice. I was pissed big time and dissociating. I worried when they used my current name and name of choice that I wouldn’t recognize it. It happens… more than I’d like to admit, so I kept trying to remember to respond as if I knew they were talking to me. I would have looked even more suspicious had I not answered when addressed by the name on my ID. I was paranoid at one point cause I worried they’d test me and walk in and call me Sandy or Nicole or something else and I’d respond to it and look like I’d stolen some chick’s identity. They didn’t believe me when I told them I changed my name. It wasn’t good at all and it only got worse.
I told Dr. D about the guy who gave me an EKG and how he had a red flashing clown nose on. I hate clowns. I really hate those fucking things. The doctor had the word “HI” scratched into her arm. She also offered to purchase my mousy bear for an ungodly amount of money. As far as her arm went, I was unable to tell what type of instrument was used to scratch that in. It wasn’t deep or anything. The cuts weren’t jagged but I still didn’t know what was used to do it. An assistant (someone in dark brown scrubs) talked to me about selling her house and all the trouble it’ll be to get her stuff donated to Goodwill. I told her about freecyle. When I did she kissed my hand and thanked me for coming into her life. Then I went into the room with the lady who decided to forget I’m more than a body and do the Doppler thing.
The lady who did the Doppler test pissed me off royally, so much so I couldn’t even dissociate through the exam. I either couldn’t or refused to. I’m not sure which. I know when she shoved that towel in my pants my reaction wasn’t one of anger but grief. I simply started balling my eyes out.
I had to remind the employees, all of them, that they couldn’t stack stuff on top of me. They put charts on my legs as they wheeled me down the hallway. I told them I was in too much physical pain for that. It also didn’t help that every doctor or tech that walked in the room immediately reached out and patted my leg when saying hello.
When ever there’s major trigger stuff like this my first thought is, I need to hurt myself. I need to cut AND I need to feel just as badly as I did when I was a child. I suppose it’s as if when re-creating the abuse I feel like I have some sort of control now. Maybe I don’t feel so powerless or something. The warm gel she put on my legs was a total shock. Usually that stuff is cold…….. Anyway, as far as the flashbacks and triggers go I’m not really able to keep my head together until I can feel close to the same level of humiliation and emotional pain as when I was a child. My head simply doesn’t work right anymore. I can’t even think straight, it literally consumes me.
…………..I typed that last line and dinner came up projectile style. I think it’s time to stop on that subject. I have therapy again tomorrow/today because he’ll be out of town Wednesday. I suppose we’ll touch on the subject again.
The ER visit was horrible all around. It’s going to take a bit to process it.
I don’t like being me right now.
Again, I give myself persmission to cry over this… and pray.
Safe ((((hugs)))
The practical side of me (which always rears its ugly head first) suggests bringing a copy of the name change order with you. Keep it in your purse.
I’m sorry you had to endure that. What’s up with Hi in the arm? Most SI folks would choose another word. I hear you on wanting to cut in those situations. Me too. It’s a way of making the pain yours and the control yours.
I haven’t cut. I want to but I haven’t.
Good grief, it sounds as if you were in some kind of house of mirrors or carnival, complete with a clown.
I’m sorry too you had these experiences, but so glad you haven’t cut yourself as a result of these insensitive clods.
I carry a copy of my name change judgment, a copy of my birth certificate, and a letter from my doctor that says I am NOT diabetic (since they screw that up EVERY time) — if I have a chance to do all of that, to get really ready — if I have to deal with the hospital. I don’t know why they can’t get their act together, or a better computer system, or train their people, or something, but they can’t.
I’m so pissed off I’m shaking. Some for you, some for us, some just general “fucking medical system” anger.
Damn. I’m really sorry.
This is why I am going to be a nurse. I am working towards my Master’s in Nurse Leadership (not in the program yet). Personnel need to be trained about these issues. Everything that happened in your ER visit was entirely unacceptable.
@ BW
I got the satisfaction survey in the mail on Friday. I figured I’d get one. I’ll fill in the little dots but I also intend to write much of what I’ve blogged about that happened there in the ER. I’ll edit out cursing and stuff like that. There’s no way on earth I’ll let it go at a simple fill in the dots satisfaction survey.
Austin