Lookout Mountain, Chattanooga

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Take one aspirin, and go to bed

Keeping a blog requires an active mind and a time slot begging to be filled.  While I usually have the first, I don't seem to have much of the latter.  Switching back and forth between revising a couple of my picture book stories and editing my middle-grade novel, I've spent my recent writing hours, well . . . writing.  But on top of that, Sunday night found me in the ER.

If you're looking for a good time, this isn't it.  I tried to put it off.  The chest pain started mid-morning, but I knew what precipitated it--a change in medication--so I thought I'd just sit tight to see if my body would work through it.  Meeting with my critique group at my place that afternoon helped take my mind off it awhile, but I finally had to kick the group out to pursue other interests.

My concern centered on trying to rid myself of the pain.  The ER's focused on trying to figure out if I had a heart attack--both extremely important goals that were apparently at odds with each other.  The closest I got to pain relief was a brief moment when the nurse attached me to the oxygen.  Too bad the right side kept falling out of my nostril.  And apparently, I looked healthy enough to be ignored because the machine beeped at me every time my pulse rate or my BP failed to live up to its expectations, yet no one showed up to check on me. 

The ER was busy; others were far worse off.  I knew that.  Yet, it was a bit disconcerting to watch my BP go all over the map and my pulse rate slow down so much that I thought a doc would walk in any minute to declare me dead.

But that didn't happen.  Someone did show up to make sure I had some blood left to take.  She tried twice before throwing up her hands.  Ouch.  So now I had chest pain and stuck-arm pain.

I'm really very healthy.  No heart attack for me, and no reason to think I'll ever have one.  My husband tried to tell me this, but it was hard to hear him over that very vocal pain in the center of my chest.  But the pain finally lost its power to speak . . . when I got home, took an aspirin, and went to bed.  Eight hours in the ER was time well spent; it exhausted me just enough to ensure a decent night's sleep.


  1. Oh, how I'm so very glad you are well now, Bonita Rosita!

  2. Thanks, Traci! Unfortunately, I had a similar experience with a different med; I just hope it doesn't happen again!