I don’t typically sleep well at night. It’s been this way for years. Between insomnia, kids up late watching the television too loud, trips to the bathroom, and the occasional panic attack, sleeping through the night has become a rare occurrence.
So, it was doubly disturbing the other night when I was awakened in the small hours of the morning by the sound of my wife’s voice. I had been fast asleep, deep into a lovely dream, and enjoying several hours of restful sleep strung all in a row.
As I swam toward wakefulness, I heard her repeat, “What? What is it?”
I turned toward her, thinking she was talking in her sleep and wondering if I could fix the problem with a well-placed pillow and a length of rope. Then I heard another voice in the hallway outside our bedroom. It was our daughter, EM2. She was complaining that her chest hurt, and she could not sleep.
Knowing that EM2 was in the middle of her finals week at college, and that she had spent a rather stressful weekend writing papers and studying for her upcoming tests, I told her she was most likely experiencing some anxiety, and that she should take some antacids to settle her stomach and try to go back to sleep.
She agreed and left.
I turned back to my pillow, who waited faithfully for my return. I was asleep again in moments. I recall dreaming of an idyllic forest, with a small stream running through it, and a deer drinking from the flowing water. The deer raised its head and looked at me. It opened its mouth, and said, “Hey, Dad. Are you still awake?”
Groggily I opened my eyes and found EM2 standing beside my bed, staring down at me.
“What?” I asked. Perhaps with more emphasis than absolutely necessary.
“My chest still hurts. Are you sure its not a heart attack? I think I need to go to the hospital.”
EM2 is twenty-one years old and, while heart attacks do happen, they are extremely rare at her age. Plus, I have suffered from anxiety and stress for many years, and I know the symptoms when I see them from personal experience. Still, to be cautious, I told her to call the on-call advice nurse at the hospital and see what they had to say. If they wanted her to come to the emergency room, I would drive her.
I figured the nurse would realize right away that they were talking to a stressed-out kid who was NOT having a heart attack. They would tell EM2 to relax and try to go back to bed. I closed my eyes and fell back asleep.
Ten minutes later, I was in my truck, still not fully awake, driving my daughter to the emergency room.
We arrived, and hospital staff brought EM2 to one of the examination rooms right away. For the next ninety minutes, I sat in the hallway watching medical staff in comfy blue pajamas wandering the premises while EM2 had her blood pressure checked, blood drawn, and an EKG performed to check for irregular heart rhythm.
All tests were negative.
The doctor’s determination? She was suffering from anxiety.
If only someone else had recognized the signs early on. This whole trip might have been avoidable.
Before EM2 was released from the hospital, the nurse handed her two written prescriptions. He said one was for a steroid, and the other was an antibiotic. EM2 asked if she needed to take them, and the nurse explained that yes, the doctor wanted her to take the medications.
I honestly wasn’t certain why a 21-year-old needs steroids and antibiotics after an anxiety attack, but what do I know? The doctor wanted her to take them. And doctors are trained professionals. They take two or three extra weeks of schooling just so they can get their doctor’s permit, or medical ribbon, or whatever the hell it is they get that says they know what they’re doing.
Next stop, hospital pharmacy.
EM2 handed the pharmacist her prescriptions and then was told she did not have insurance through the hospital and would need to go to another pharmacy to get it filled.
Hold on a minute. My daughter is a Kaiser member. We went to a Kaiser hospital to get treated. She received a Kaiser prescription, written by a Kaiser doctor on a pad of paper that said “Kaiser” at the top, with a ballpoint pen that said “Kaiser” on the side of it.
And the medications weren’t covered?
The pharmacist said EM2 would need to go to a Walgreen’s to fill the prescriptions, but that they would be covered and wouldn’t require a co-pay if we did. Otherwise, if we got the medications at the hospital, they would cost us full price. Completely confused but having no other recourse but to go find a Walgreen’s to fill her prescriptions, we left.
A few minutes later, during the drive to find a Walgreen’s somewhere in our vicinity, EM2 received a phone call from the hospital. The nurse told her that the prescriptions she had received had been a mistake and that they were intended for someone else. At least now the mystery of why her insurance wouldn’t cover the cost was solved. It wasn’t her medication. EM2 was advised to take some Motrin if she was still not feeling well, but otherwise there was no follow up treatment, and she was free to go home.
I made a U-turn at the next light and started driving toward our house. I noticed the time and realized that I would be arriving home right about the time that my alarm clock would be going off on my bedside table. I turned toward the passenger seat to comment on the irony of the timing to EM2.
But she was sound asleep.
.
.
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