It was September 20, 2012, and I was vomiting. So much so, that my caregiver Thalia (the awesome, beautiful, fabulous, lifesaver and good friend Thalia) stayed with me all day and night. I hadn't eaten for 2 days and could not stop throwing up bile or having bouts of diarrhea. Thalia stayed nearby to clean me up and stuff.
Around 5:30 am the 21st, I vomited more bile, but this time it was full of blood. So an ambulance was called.
Shortly after, a two man crew arrived and stated they were done their shift, but they were there to assess me and wait for the other crew to show up. I was stable, so we just waited for the next ambulance to arrive.
The next crew came in shortly after. These were two women. As a side note, Thalia had been a paramedic for 15 years and an EMT for 3 years prior, a total of 18 years in the emergency medical field in New York City. She is no stranger to night shifts and early morning calls on the ambulance, and sensed in both crews a bit of annoyance in the way they presented themselves. They didn't want to be here, that's for sure.
The first crew asked the second crew if they needed further assistance after they and Thalia explained the medical situation they were facing. This is the information Thalia and I gave the transporting crew before they even touched me: I am (was) a 44 year old female with MS. I am hemi-palegic on my right side, meaning I have no use of my right limbs. I had been vomiting for over 24 hours and having diarrhea for about 6 hours. They were told, SEVERAL TIMES, that I was very weak from all this (and the fact I had taken another sleeping pill around 3:00 am, it was a rough night) and stated I didn't feel strong enough to stand up, even with assistance. They were also shown the bowl 'o blood.
Although we didn't tell them how much I weighed (I didn't really know, anyway), I am visibly a large person. Huge.
So the second all-female tiny person crew told the all-male larger person crew to leave, even before they had attempted to transfer me to their stretcher. Which was outside the apartment, by the way.
I was sitting on the edge of my bed all this time. They asked Thalia how I usually transferred to my wheelchair, and she told them, on a GOOD day, (like, when I've slept and haven't been vomiting for 24 hours) I hold onto the secure pole beside my bed, stand up, and pivot to sit in the wheelchair as it's wheeled behind me. (Or, I used my walker and walked up the hall if it was a really good day). We both stated again that since I'm so weak, this may not be the best solution. I also reiterated that I didn't feel strong enough to stand up, assisted or otherwise.
The paramedics said "well, we're going to make you stand anyway. We'll help you and hold you up, but you'll still do most of the work". (?!?!) Thalia was ready with the wheelchair right by the bed. One of the paramedics wasn't even in the room at the time the other one was attempting to help me up. With her help, I stood up and immediately started collapsing, stating that my legs weren't working. The medic that was assisting me was struggling to hold me up, but I was practically on the floor. Now, everyone SHOULD know, and certainly people I've been around in the medical field know this, that if someone is falling, you don't try to stop it or struggle to keep/get them up - you HELP them fall safely. You let nature take its course and let them fall, but hopefully you can help them down so they don't break bones or hurt themselves. I was SCREAMING in pain, "my leg! My leg! Put me down!" And the other medic came running and joined the other one to try and make me stand. They raised their voices, commanding me to use my good leg and stand up. Thalia was behind me with the wheelchair, in case they did manage to get me up, but I kept sinking down. Thalia says she observed my legs and saw they were twisted in a very un-natural position, and it was obvious I was screaming out in pain because my body weight was increasingly being let down on my twisted legs. We were both begging them to put me down and lay me across the floor. I kept screaming that my leg was hurting, while both paramedics were yelling at me to stand up and use my good leg to help them. I yelled "I don't HAVE a good leg today!" The medics didn't seem to want to let me down but I was already down, with my right foot twisted under me in a way that no leg could be unless it was broken. The medics, still unwilling to listen to us, were raising their voices and telling me repeatedly to stop screaming. I kept on screaming in pain, telling them my leg was hurting and to PLEASE let me down! We were both begging them to stop trying and let me down, which they finally did.
When I was finally laid down on the floor, Thalia was right next to my right foot which was twisted to almost 180 degrees and pointing backwards. She gently straightened my leg, and I finally stopped screaming. That entire horror show lives in my head, playing over and over, giving me constant creepy crawlies.
At that point the two medics decided to call the fire department for a "lift assist". Thalia automatically started checking my leg for tenderness. She had put my AFO (ankle foot orthotic - lower leg brace thingy) and shoes on before the arrival of any ambulance so I would be ready to go, (and thank god she did, as I believe it kept the ankle break stable instead of so messy I'd need surgery. Like my left ankle. But that's another book) so she palpated the exposed part of my leg. Instantly one medic (I call her the Bully; the other one just kind of went along with her), speaking in a condescending tone told her to "back off" so she could assess my leg. She poked my leg twice asking if it hurt, and both times I answered yes, and that was it. They never addressed my leg again.
As we waited for the firemen, Thalia tried to make me comfortable. She was slipping a soaker pad under my butt in case I had another bout of diarrhea when the Bully said "doesn't she have a diaper you could have put on her?" in a very condescending and rude tone. I was undressed from the waist down because of the fact I'm not able to undress fast enough while having diarrhea and Thalia alone can't help me fast enough. I was also too weak to even get to the commode that day. Thalia explained this to her, who then said "get a diaper and put it on her", speaking again as if Thalia was her personal servant. As Thalia got up to get a diaper, she told her to watch her tone, adjust her attitude, and not speak to her that way again. Bully then told me that I shouldn't have been screaming because it didn't help matters. I said I was being hurt and couldn't help it. The other medic chimed in by saying that still, I should have kept quiet. Thalia could not believe what she was hearing, but she just wanted to get me to the hospital so she didn't want to prolong this situation by making any comments.
As she was done putting on a diaper, the firemen arrived with a special sling type carrying device. All four of them carried me to the stretcher in the hallway. And it wasn't easy. To think there had been 2 men there earlier who were sent away by Bully makes my blood boil. This could have been avoided. As they strapped me in, Thalia noticed my right leg hanging off the stretcher, obviously deformed, and again she said to Bully that she felt like there was definitely something wrong with it, possibly a dislocation or a break. Bully said nothing in response.
Thalia wrote in her account later (which much of this is taken from) that in all her years of emergency medicine, she had never witnessed such blatant disregard for patient care and safety. The transporting paramedics were rude, negligent, and abusive.
Once I was in the ambulance, I begged a medic to please take off my shoes and AFO, as there was definitely something wrong and it hurt like hell. She undid everything and proceeded to do the "does this hurt?" poking in three different places, to which I answered "yes" to all of them, and again - that was it. I'm sure she huddled off with the Bully and they agreed not to mention it or take responsibility.
I got to the hospital and was admitted for having vomited blood. As the medics left, I heard the Bully casually say to a nurse, "oh, and she's complaining that her ankle hurts" as she scurried out the door.
When I was finally seen by a doctor, I told him what happened with the paramedics (very condensed version) and that my ankle could be broken. Of course, at the time, I only felt the pain in my ankle the most. Over the weeks that followed more breaks and injuries would reveal themselves, but that night all I got was an ankle x-ray. A proper examination was NEVER done because of how it happened and no one wanting to take responsibility, I guess. Plus, I have MS and barely walk anyway, so it's not like I NEED a working leg, so who cares? That is the attitude I faced from almost everyone over the next four months in hospitals.
Anyway, more on that later. This particular night, the x-ray showed a break in my fibula at my ankle, and that I was to stay off it for 6 weeks. They put me in an air cast and admitted me to a room. I had no idea at the time how much worse it would get, and the life-altering injuries that had actually happened that night. Some of them weren't even noticeable until I got back home four months later. But I'll save that for next time.
Oh, and by the way, the bleeding was because of how much I was vomiting. I'd scratched my esophagus, causing it to bleed. I've been on a PPI ever since, with no further problems. SO WORTH IT.
My dad took this picture when I was in the hospital. I missed them sooooo much!
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