caffiend115's Journal

I had to write a 10 page ethnography (which isn't long at all for an ethnography) for my Urban Society class.  I chose the Emergency Room in Stony Brook University Medical Center, the ER that diagnosed my PE.  My psychiatrist recently said the whole ordeal added to my PTSD, because of my increased paranoia and flashbacks,  and I didn't realize how right he was until I decided to write my field notes using memory.  So, here's a little excerpt I thought I'd share about what happened when my ER doc broke the news.  Ta Da! Haha.

The man in the grey scrubs came back with a grim look on his face.  I tried to look away and pretend he wasn’t coming towards my bedside.  He sat down beside me and told me I had a pulmonary embolism.  He explained it was a blood clot in my lung and when I asked what it was blocking, knowing I was premed, but forgetting I was 19, he replied, “It’s located in your right pulmonary artery taking up the bifurcation, segmental and sub-segmental vessels.”  I tried to remember my anatomy.  I remembered a diagram of a lung I had seen in high school, and if the clot was covering what I thought it was covering, it was a massive clot.  The doctor explained that I had to be put on a rigorous course of oral blood thinners right away as well as an injection to help stabilize the clot so it didn’t move.  He explained that it was very close to my heart and if I didn’t get treated right away, it would be fatal.  I had an organic chemistry final one week from that day.  He told me he would give me a few minutes to digest the information he had just given me.  In those few minutes, I got dressed and started packing up my bag, chemistry textbook in tow.  When the doctor noticed me packing, he rushed over with the attending right behind him.  “What are you doing?”  I told them I wanted AMA papers and that I promised to be back in two weeks once finals were over.  My doctor’s eyes widened and he started to yell, “You are 19 years old.  You have a life threatening condition and if you go take that test, you are going to die in the middle of it!  You are not leaving this hospital!  Do you understand that?  What kind of doctor would I be...no, would you be if you let a patient in your condition leave?  You would be nothing but a murderer’s accomplice.  I am a doctor.  You are my patient.  When I tell you that you are going to die in a matter of days if not hours, you listen to me.  Now, sit down!”  Everyone was staring.  It was the first time the ER was silent.  The only sounds you could hear were the various machines beeping and a random drunk moaning.  The only thing I could say was, “...but I really have to take this test.”  The attending stepped in.  “Dr. Mayler, step away from my patient and be quiet.  I’ll deal with you later.”  He turned to me.  “I know you are alone here.  We can call your family if you’d like, but you need to understand that you are very lucky for making it this long with a clot that large.  You need to be treated and monitored very closely for the next few days in this hospital and be treated as an outpatient for at least 12 months.  Your heart rate is through the roof, you’re struggling breathing without an oxygen mask, and even with one [he looked at the monitor] your pulse ox is only 88%.  You need to stay.  We’ll be back in five minutes to see what you decide to do, but know that if you decide to leave, we will get psychiatry and the law involved to show that you aren’t competent enough to make your own medical decisions and we will gain temporary healthcare proxy rights.”