ABOUT THE FIVE COLUMNS LISTED BELOW

       The dates on the five (5) columns listed below, that comprise the "Serious As A Heart Attack" series, do not have the actual dates of the original publication, aside from Part 1. They are set up the way they are so that they can be read in order.
.....Bill

SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK

PART 1
      “SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO?”

On June 15^th at about 12:15 a.m., I woke up after about an hour’s worth of sleep with a bad case of heartburn. Well, what I believed was a bad case of heartburn. After taking the usual two Tums, I attempted to go back to sleep. A half an hour later the heartburn had increased and as I sat on the edge of my bed my wife, Stacey, was asking if we should go to the emergency room or call 911.

This being one of her favorite suggestions whenever I am not feeling well, of course, fell deaf on my stubborn ears. I waved her off with visions of massive medical bills dancing around my head. I had heard news reports of the skyrocketing cost of a paramedic ride. The ticket for this little ride is now topping $1,000.00 to take. 

With the pressure in my chest increasing by the minute, the suggestion of going to the emergency room started sounding like a pretty good idea. So, as we were making our way to the car and heading for the emergency room it struck us, which emergency room?

In the past, it was always a no brainer. Geographically and traffic wise Arcadia Methodist was always our first choice, but in the last couple of years a couple of things had changed in our local medical landscape to help complicate our decision.

First, was the fact that Arcadia Methodist and Anthem Blue Cross could not play nice with one another anymore and of course Blue Cross is our current medical provider. Second, was the fact that my sister had passed away while in the "care" of Arcadia Methodist. My family and I were of the opinion that she received substandard care while there. So with these things in mind the choice was made and off to San Gabriel Valley Medical Center we went.

As the blood was draining from my face I was glad that the streets were empty as we made good time to SGVMC. Along with my pale complexion my head was getting light and the pain in my chest was increasing. By the time we made it to the doors of the ER it was all I could do to find the nearest chair while my wife made it to the counter to find someone to admit us. 

Unfortunately, early Tuesday mornings were apparently not the best time to come to the ER as there was nobody behind the counter or anywhere in sight. Well let me revise that. There was the security guard on duty who was asking questions like “Should I get a wheelchair?” as I sat there clutching my chest in agony.

As I slipped closer to unconsciousness less and less of what was being said around me was making any sense. All I remember is that someone finally got me in a wheelchair and took me about 15 feet to where there was obviously employees that had some sort of medical knowledge and weren’t part of the security detail.

Eventually I was hooked up to an EKG and asked thousands of questions as the pain continued. Then came the first morphine shot. At that point I began to realize the level of pain I had achieved. The shot did absolutely nothing. The pain continued and after about 45 minutes a doctor finally made his presence known to me.

According to him, after his diagnosis of the EKG, the pain in my chest and numbness in my left arm was not a heart attack. More tests would be needed. I may have pneumonia or some other ailment.

            About this time my son Alex got to the hospital and as you can imagine was completely freaked out.  He was followed in by the doctor checking to see if the pain had subsided, as if it would magically go away. When I told him no he quickly ordered up a second shot of morphine and fled the room I’m guessing to consult his crystal ball.

            The second shot of morphine was hitting the spot and instead of the pain and pressure in my chest a numb feeling began to creep in across my body and a drugged out haze began to take over my brain.

            As testimony to my drugged out state, Stacey and Alex told me that at one point, as my eyes were scanning the ceiling, I spewed forth the following quote: “Boy, there are a lot of purple states. There goes Wyoming!”  My daughter who found this extremely funny felt compelled to post it on Facebook. Thanks Rachel.

            After what seemed like a few minutes, but was actually another hour, the doctor returned with the following news after a second EKG, “Well Mr. Dunn it appears that you are having a heart attack after all. Oh and we can’t give you the proper treatment here, we are going to have to send you over to Arcadia Methodist.”

            When I mentioned the insurance issue he replied, “They are going to have to take you because of the emergency nature of this case.”

            “So how am I going to get there?”

            “Oh we have already called 911. The paramedics are on their way.”

            This of course means we are batting 1000 in the doing what we didn’t want to do department. Not only was I going to be getting the ambulance ride I didn’t want, I was also going to the hospital that I was trying to avoid going to. Oh Lord just take me now.

            Thank God for that second shot of morphine. Whoa, there goes Wyoming again…….        

SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK

                                                    PART 2
                                       “MAGIC CARPET RIDE”

            I have always been a staunch supporter of the fire departments and emergency response teams in my area. I have written many times in this column about the unenviable job they have chosen, especially when it comes to navigating our streets around the throngs of drivers who haven’t got a clue what to do when they hear a siren.

            That said, just as not all drivers are bad, although it would be hard to come to that conclusion driving in the San Gabriel Valley, sadly not all paramedics are good.

            I came to this epiphany as I was being prepared for transport from San Gabriel Valley Medical Center to Arcadia Methodist Hospital. Just a reminder to those of you who missed Part 1, and shame on you for that and you know who you are, I was in the midst of having a heart attack. I was also at SGVMC because I didn’t want to go to Arcadia Methodist. I also didn’t want to go on a ride with the paramedics.  But here I was and there I was about to go.

            My first clue as to the subpar abilities of my ambulance crew was apparent once they tried to put me on the gurney from my ER bed. It was obvious that it was going to be such a major production for them,  that I finally said “Look, I’ll just slide over onto it”, which I did. I didn’t want to die waiting for them to get me out of one hospital on the way to the next.

Once at the mouth of my emergency vehicle things once again came to a halt. I was getting the drift that I was not in the hands of the “A” team here. There were more questions being asked by more than one of this crew and all the answers seemed to be coming from the same guy. It finally struck me, in my heavily morphined state, that three quarters of this four man crew were trainees. Oh Goody, could this night get any better?

After the last volley of questions were answered I waved goodbye to my wife and the back doors were secured and my little shuttle appeared to be ready for takeoff. As I watched and listened to the conversation going back and forth between the occupants I began to stress out even more.

My chest started tightening again even worse than before. I truly believe it was due to the fact that my little flight crew here wasn’t giving me the warm and fuzzies as far as their abilities were concerned. Only one guy seemed to have any answers and he didn’t seem to be giving them up very quickly or clearly.

Once on our way I expected this to be one quick little trip. Having grown up in this valley I could drive from where we were to Arcadia Methodist with my eyes closed. Unfortunately the ambulance driver could not. As we drove, I could see where we were going in reverse as there were large windows in the rear.

As the man with all the answers prepared to give me my third shot of morphine I started to recognize where they were driving. I asked “Are you guys driving up Rosemead Boulevard?”

“Gee I don’t know” the man answered.

He in turn asked the driver the same question and before his answer could come I said “Yeah you are and as a matter of fact you should be coming up on Huntington Drive right about now.”

The driver then answers “Yes we are on Rosemead”.

This response came just as I watched the Trader Joes sign pass by me in reverse. For those of you not familiar with this area Trader Joes is at the corner of Rosemead and Huntington Drive. Again, for those of you not familiar with the area this is where the ambulance should have made a right turn in order to get to Arcadia Methodist.

“You do know you were supposed to turn right on Huntington?”

“Oh no we are going to take a faster route”

“Oh really? Like what?”

“We are heading for the 210 freeway. It’s much faster!”

 “I don’t want to be a back gurney driver, but you guys do know that there is major construction on Rosemead Boulevard North of Huntington?”  

At this moment all conversation stopped for a moment and the siren on the ambulance was turned on. The third shot of morphine was quickly administered, the driver hit the gas and the oxygen mask was quickly slapped on. Personally, I think this was a ploy to get me to shut the hell up, but that morphine really jumps right on top of you so I can only speculate.

 The man with all the answers moved up closer to the driver where I couldn’t make out what was being said. He quickly came back to my side and said “He has another route in mind” at which point the ambulance made a quick right turn.

I looked out the back and said “He’s going down Colorado Boulevard?”

“Yep”

“Then he’s going to take that over to Colorado Street and come around the back of the Hospital?”

“Yep”

“Well that beats the freeway by a few minutes, but it is still taking the long way around the horn”

As we pulled up to the hospital my wife was there and had been there for a good ten minutes. I should have gone with her. At least she knew how to get there. As they pushed me through the back door of the emergency room at Arcadia Methodist I thought of one thing.

If I make it through this and they try sending me a $1,000.00 bill for this trip I am going to go buy them a GPS and send them that instead. It may help save the next rider’s life.