I hate to make anything about me here. If I'm right I'm right, and if I'm wrong I'm wrong, no matter who I am. Also, I just really like my privacy. But I have a personal story I've decided to tell, because . . . well, I don't know.
On Friday, August 22, I was at the office working when I noticed that my left arm was tingly and my left hand was clumsy. I assumed I'd been leaning awkwardly on my left elbow. While I shook my left arm I dialed a carry out order, but as I walked to pick up my lunch I realized that my left leg was lagging and making me clumsy. As I continued walking back to my office I realized that the left side of my face was numb and tingly, as though I'd been to a dentist.
I typed these symptoms into the internet, where WebMD told me to dial 911 because I was probably having a stroke. I didn't immediately do so, because I didn't feel sick. Apart from the odd but not compelling weakness on my left side, I felt fine. But since the internet told me that delay could be catastrophic, I dialed 911.
When the ambulance arrived, the EMS tech bizarrely discouraged me from going to the hospital. "I made the call, so I'm taking the ride," I said.
We went to Methodist Hospital, which was out of my network but the closest hospital. (To my surprise, every payor later agreed that this was the right call.) As it turns out, Methodist has the highest possible trauma ranking for strokes. Among other things, this means that stroke patients must begin receiving vital treatment within 30 minutes after they cross the threshold.
Let me stop here to explain why, if you're having a stroke or another emergency, you need to dial 911 and not just rely on someone to speed you to the hospital. By the time I arrived, all of my paperwork was essentially done, and there was a team of professionals already assembled and waiting for me. I wasn't admitted to Methodist so much as I was injected into Methodist.
If someone asked me to describe what happened next under oath and on the stand, I couldn't do it. All I could say is that, as soon as the folks in the ER concluded I'd likely had a stroke, my clothes came violently but politely off, monitors were attached, I was sprinted through hospital halls at high speed in a state of low dignity, high tech tests were conducted, and I was hooked up to IVs of lifesaving drugs while everyone did high fives (with me too) because it had all happened in less than 30 minutes.
Note: It turns out that if you don't get this sort of treatment within three hours you're screwed. If I'd listened to that asshole EMS tech, I'd now be permanently disabled.
While I was in the hospital, I temporarily lost all use of my left arm and leg. I didn't know at the time that it would be temporary. During that 90 minutes, though, I had plenty of time to think about my life, and about the nature of life itself, as well as the circumstances under which life would be desirable.
For anyone who's still reading, I'm fine, and I apologize for this maudlin post. I've made a lot of healthy changes since the Big Event, and I thought staying away from here ought to be among them. Obviously I've backslided on that. I guess my points are these:
(1) Don't f#ck around if you think you're having a stroke.
(2) What are we all doing here?
On Friday, August 22, I was at the office working when I noticed that my left arm was tingly and my left hand was clumsy. I assumed I'd been leaning awkwardly on my left elbow. While I shook my left arm I dialed a carry out order, but as I walked to pick up my lunch I realized that my left leg was lagging and making me clumsy. As I continued walking back to my office I realized that the left side of my face was numb and tingly, as though I'd been to a dentist.
I typed these symptoms into the internet, where WebMD told me to dial 911 because I was probably having a stroke. I didn't immediately do so, because I didn't feel sick. Apart from the odd but not compelling weakness on my left side, I felt fine. But since the internet told me that delay could be catastrophic, I dialed 911.
When the ambulance arrived, the EMS tech bizarrely discouraged me from going to the hospital. "I made the call, so I'm taking the ride," I said.
We went to Methodist Hospital, which was out of my network but the closest hospital. (To my surprise, every payor later agreed that this was the right call.) As it turns out, Methodist has the highest possible trauma ranking for strokes. Among other things, this means that stroke patients must begin receiving vital treatment within 30 minutes after they cross the threshold.
Let me stop here to explain why, if you're having a stroke or another emergency, you need to dial 911 and not just rely on someone to speed you to the hospital. By the time I arrived, all of my paperwork was essentially done, and there was a team of professionals already assembled and waiting for me. I wasn't admitted to Methodist so much as I was injected into Methodist.
If someone asked me to describe what happened next under oath and on the stand, I couldn't do it. All I could say is that, as soon as the folks in the ER concluded I'd likely had a stroke, my clothes came violently but politely off, monitors were attached, I was sprinted through hospital halls at high speed in a state of low dignity, high tech tests were conducted, and I was hooked up to IVs of lifesaving drugs while everyone did high fives (with me too) because it had all happened in less than 30 minutes.
Note: It turns out that if you don't get this sort of treatment within three hours you're screwed. If I'd listened to that asshole EMS tech, I'd now be permanently disabled.
While I was in the hospital, I temporarily lost all use of my left arm and leg. I didn't know at the time that it would be temporary. During that 90 minutes, though, I had plenty of time to think about my life, and about the nature of life itself, as well as the circumstances under which life would be desirable.
For anyone who's still reading, I'm fine, and I apologize for this maudlin post. I've made a lot of healthy changes since the Big Event, and I thought staying away from here ought to be among them. Obviously I've backslided on that. I guess my points are these:
(1) Don't f#ck around if you think you're having a stroke.
(2) What are we all doing here?
