I Had a Stroke (Pt. 2)

Enter ER via wheelchair, at approximately 12:15 pm, Sunday, June 23rd.

"Hello sir, can you tell me your name and date of birth?"

"Yes, my name is Mark Lewis, and I was born [date withheld for privacy]."

"Thank you, Mr. Lewis, now why have you come to the ER?"

I believe I said something along the lines of, "I'm having a stroke."

"Very good sir, what kinds of medication are you taking?"

"I am a diabetic and I taking [med 1 and med 2]."

"What are you allergic to?"

"Nothing, except for the medication that gave me the hives." I had been taking two medications for diabetes and high blood pressure that gave me a constant case of the hives.

There was obviously a lot more to that exchange. I was soon escorted down the hall where I would have a CT scan. It took longer to walk down the hall than take the actual test. The results of that test were negative for massive trauma or bleeding. Unfortunately, the CT scan isn't designed to detect the small blockages or bleeds that cause a stroke. I would need an MRI/MRA for that type of scan. I would be going to a larger regional hospital that had that capability.

I also had a chest X-ray for whatever reason. I'm quite certain the hospital would have never done anything without a particularly good reason, right? I think there was a reason, but I don't remember being told one.

At this point, the ER nurse J and lab tech D introduced themselves to me and to each other. Nurse J began taking additional information and my vitals. Tech D went medieval on me and drew blood while adding an IV port. Oh God, nothing is as irritating than an IV port covered with surgical tape, sticking out of your arm.

In the mix of all of this, I was fashionably dressed in a beautiful seafoam green hospital gown. Fortunately, I was allowed to keep my pants and shoes on. As that occurred, I was further distressed and irritated by those seemingly easily removable stickers for resting EKG diodes. Apparently, the test revealed nothing of immediate concern or interest.

By now, the flow of people in and out of the ER becomes a blur. Someone began taking my vitals. Someone handed me a cup of water. Someone gave me a rather large orange pill. I never heard what it was—maybe an aspirin.

A PA entered the room and began assessing my extremity function and dexterity. I smiled. I squeezed. I rubbed my legs together. I pushed with my feet. I read several sentences. I identified the action of several pictures. I passed the test. It was all zeros. I tried reciting the Gettysburg Address, John 3:16, and Philippians 1:6 to myself. I'm a pastor and a history buff, but I couldn't remember the verses or the speech.

My right arm was still numb from my fingertips to my middle forearm.

It was getting hard to speak.

It was 2:15 pm.

I know that because Ms. T, my nurse savior, had arrived to check on me. We discussed some of my condition and that my speech was becoming further impaired. It was up and down. At one moment, I could speak just fine, and the next, I was struggling. It felt like a car misfiring. I would have a thought I wanted to express, but I couldn't articulate it. But when I focused carefully and tried again, it worked. It was exhausting.

Our conversation about further treatment, better diagnostic testing, and more specifically, the MRI/MRA meant that I needed to go a different hospital. It was local. Only 40 minutes or so away, but my safest option was to go by ambulance. The order was given to transport me via ambulance to the new hospital. As the patient, I would obviously ride in the back. Marie would go with me. She got to ride in the front. It was a good decision because, by the time the ambulance arrived, I could no longer speak. This was around 3:30 pm.

A few things that come to mind as the ambulance crew arrived. The EMT in charge seemed a little more nervous than I was about transporting me. Certainly, it was her obvious experience. She set code 1, which called for lights and sirens. Apparently, she didn't want to take her time out of concern for her patient.

When the driver brought the gurney in, he didn't let me stand and walk over to it. He had me (what is a good word for this) shimmy over. I'm certainly glad I wasn't any more impaired than I was. It was hard enough to do as it was. He covered me up. Strapped me down. Raised the gurney to nosebleed like heights, shoved me inside, and off we went.

The ride itself was interesting enough. More on that in part three.