Been There, Done That: Nine Decades And Counting By Alice Herb: How I Ended Up Hospitalized

By Alice Herb

One evening in May, I had an unexpected medical event, and I thought I would pass on to all of you what happened to me. I wasn’t feeling well, but it was a Sunday, and I wondered if I should try to get professional advice and help. I finally did call my doctor’s office. I wasn’t happy with the advice I got from whoever was covering for calls over the weekend at my medical facility. So I called Rick, my good friend and a family practice physician who lives across the street from me. He came over immediately with his portable diagnostic equipment. I thought I might need a quick fix for nasal congestion and inability to breathe on what was a hot and muggy day but Rick concluded that I was suffering from atrial fibrillation (AFib) and I needed to go to the nearby emergency room (ER). I balked at leaving that evening and stayed home. Rick called me the next morning at 7:30 to announce that he was ready to take me to the ER and so off we went. The initial tests indicated that he was probably right and that I needed to be hospitalized at Lenox Hill, for additional diagnostic tests and follow-up. I was not terribly disturbed by this, as Rick was quite reassuring. He also recommended that I go to Lenox Hill, as they had an outstanding Cardiology Department. I was transferred by ambulance and even told the EMS personnel that I was disappointed that they did not turn on their siren. But while I was being transferred to the hospital, I had a momentary inability to breathe and when I arrived at the hospital I was hustled upstairs for emergency attention.  

Now came the really serious stuff. I was no sooner in the Cardiology unit when I started gasping for breath. I was immediately surrounded by a half dozen medical staff sounding very agitated. I heard them say to hurry with oxygen as my heart rate had soared to 163! My thoughts, oddly enough, focused on their thinking that I was “checking out” but I had no intention of doing that – I still had too much living and fixing to do. As this thought flashed through my brain, I started to breathe again and they were able to provide the oxygen. I realized then that my brother had arrived and was sitting stoically in front of me, and shortly thereafter he said that he had had a similar experience. From that moment on, my experience was textbook perfect.

Countless tests were ordered, and several different physicians and technicians came in and out of my room, but I was not yet given any definitive diagnosis. By now it was evening, and my son and brother remained with me to find out what was actually going on. The verdict included more than just AFib and I was given multiple pills to swallow. Nurses finally made me comfortable and I fell asleep, soon to be awakened for more pills. 

At 5:10 AM or so, I was awakened for a “bath.” I thought that very weird so early in both my admission and time of day but then who was I to complain? This was my only horrendous experience in the week spent at the hospital. I was stripped naked and placed on a board, whereupon several people started to scrub me, flip me over, and do the same on my back. It seemed like a nightmare – I was the cadaver and they were preparing me for a funeral. But no, I was still thinking. I had to be alive.  And of course, I was. They finally showered, dried, and dressed me, readying to return me to my room. Of course, now I was no longer spooked but I had lost all dignity and privacy. In my 30 years as a bioethicist, I had never heard of this procedure. It was vile!

Back in my room, I was now introduced to what would be happening to me on a daily basis. A series of nurses and technicians continued to come by as well as physicians of different specialties. All dispensed medications or did more tests or took different measures to determine treatment. I never was in any pain or even uncomfortable but for the fact that I was attached to so many tubes that it was difficult to move. And of course, I was not allowed to leave my bed. Medication and certain data were collected constantly. The nurses were both ubiquitous and very attentive. I became very fond of them and they never flagged in their efforts to answer my needs and questions but were also quick to answer my calls and administer medications on a strictly timely basis. I do not know if that was because they knew I had spent a lot of professional time at hospitals or that it was their modus operandi but I had no complaints, except for the terrible hospital food. 

When I was finally ready for discharge, social workers, physical therapists, and other professionals came by, but by then my nurses knew me well enough to tell them not to press me too hard: that I was very well informed, very independent, knew what I was talking about, and to abide by my decisions. I had been very compliant with treatment knowing that was the only way to recover, but I also knew that all I needed was visiting nurses and follow-up appointments. I also agreed to take my medications faithfully and to buy a walker that I now affectionately call my Bentley.  

It is now more than 2 months since my discharge and I am doing quite well according to my physicians. I have learned some valuable lessons. Pay attention. Call for medical help immediately when you are unsure. But before that, make sure you have a practical plan on when and how to seek out medical help. Be “obedient” to instructions. I am a terrible rebel but not when I am sick. Making certain that you know what is happening and why is also essential. Behave, follow orders, and in most situations, the reward will be getting back to your life.

Alice Herb is a retired attorney, journalist, and bioethics consultant. Having reached the age of 90+, she’s more than ready to share her experiences and opinions with agebuzz readers. Want to comment on something she’s said? She welcomes your feedback at [email protected].

And do you have something you’d like to say? Let us know by contacting us at [email protected].