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by Hénock Gugsa
This was now my second outpatient visit (within a 16-day period) at this hospital. The ailment I had was the same one. My health distress was a right lower-back disk dislocation that had been causing pain down my right leg all the way to the toes. This situation had been going on for over three months, and my physician had finally recommended I undergo an MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) followed by a lumbar epidural injection (a steroid shot.) And so, on November 30th, I was at the hospital in the x-ray department ready to take the shot.
As is to be expected, the hospital first conducts a screening procedure where all the necessary or required data is gathered from the patient. Next, they take readings of the patient’s “vitals” (pulse, and blood pressure.) Then, someone would explain to the patient what all the steps of the planned procedure were going to be. This was all just fine, and acceptable to me except for some few idiotic details which I will enumerate here:
• 1 – One of the questions a nurse asked me was about the medications I was taking. I enumerated them to the best of my ability. But the nurse was not able to find some of them in the drop-down selections after keying-in leading letters. And alternative spellings were to no avail either. Yet, the nurse kept reading out the names of possible medicines back to me in the hope that I would recognize some of them! What a way to run a railroad!
• 2 – Then out of nowhere, I was asked if I had been under any sort of abuse lately. They wouldn't specify what kind however. I responded: “No,” ... because I had not been under any type of abuse, not even the self-inflicted kind. But the nurse kept on asking the same question(s) again and again with slight variations as if she did not believe me. Naturally, I was beginning to feel like a suspect in a police interrogation room.
• 3 – Just when I was thinking things could not get any worse, I was asked if I had any problems understanding the English language, and if it was indeed my primary language. I replied, “Yes, English is my primary language, and I understand perfectly all the questions you are asking me.”
• 4 – I suspect that they had more questions for me about my level of education and/or intelligence; but I guess that they could see in my face that I was getting agitated and working up a fury. Good for them for noticing that ... because I would have made some rather caustic remarks along the lines of … Er, yes, actually I’m college-educated and I even have a degree. Would you like to know my GPA? … or … I have a higher than average IQ, … or … I’ve actually been told that I’m smarter than the average bear.
On my second and last visit to the same radiology unit, on December 16th, the staff were different. And I went thru the same rigmarole, but this time there was the added bonus of two especially out-of-this-world, dunderhead nurses. The first one, the one that brings you into the procedure room and interrogates you, was taking long pauses between his questions … same questions that were asked of me the first time 16 days ago. I do not, for the life of me, know what they do with the patient data that they collect. I should also mention that my provider clinic had already faxed the hospital all the pertinent medical information more than two days before this visit.
But moving right along, ... and on to my extreme irritation with a doozy of a nurse, also a male. As he was prepping me for the procedure, he read out my name and then asked an innocent (yet dumb) question about its origin. He specifically wanted to know where I was from. This was a completely inappropriate question no matter what the setting. A nurse could [and should only] be asking how I was feeling, and assure me that everything was going to be okay, etc. etc. But, this guy obviously did not know or care about the boundaries.
I was thinking this guy is more interested in blabbering about outside trivial matters rather than concentrating on the job at hand. But, I was good. I restrained myself. I chose to give a pleasant response. I said that I was from Ethiopia. After a slight pause, he said, “Ethiopia, huh? I had a roommate from Ethiopia.” I said nothing, I didn’t want to encourage this guy any more.
But he continued, “Oromo, my roommate ... he said he was Oromo. Are you er ... Oromo too?” Now, I’m really getting ticked off, and beginning to wonder how long I was going to put up with this moronic discussion about stupid oromos anyways. I’m an American now. I don’t go around announcing what my ethnic Ethiopian background is! The hell with that! I was getting mad because not only was I this idiot’s captive audience, but I was also in a vulnerable and defenseless situation here. In a few minutes, they would be sticking a needle into a lumbar nerve. If they don’t do it right, I could be paralyzed for life!
Then, I remembered that, in all this back and forth, nobody had bothered to tell me who my doctor was going to be. So, I asked if it was going to be the same doctor as the last time. And this same, irritating, lame-brained nurse replied in a smarmy tone, “No, it is going to be Dr. XXXXX. Is that going to be alright with you?” But, I just bit my tongue and kept quiet.
A minute or two later, the doctor entered the room, walked over to the head of the gurney so I could see him as I was laying face down. He stretched out his hand, shook mine, and introduced himself. He reassured me that this procedure was pretty simple and that he saw no problems or complications. Everything should go smoothly. Truer words were never said. This young doctor was really good to his words, the procedure was painless and quick. I was very relieved and at the same time itching to get out of there post haste.
On the way out, the first nurse accompanied me outside to the lobby, and again asked if I was having somebody give me a ride home. I was not to do any driving for the next two, three hours until the immediate effects of the medicines wore off. So, I again told this nurse that I was going to sit there and call my wife to come and pick me up. He did not seem to believe me, and was worried about insurance liabilities for the hospital. He sat next to me to make sure I made the call to my wife. Unfortunately, I could not reach her because she was at work and not expecting my call for another 45 minutes. The problem was that I had arrived at the hospital a half-hour early, and when I checked in they took me in right away because the nurses did not have any patients to torment at the time. They must have been bored out of their minds until I came along.
But, at any rate, I was eventually able to convince this nurse that I understood where he was coming from, that I did not drive to the hospital, and that ergo, I could not possibly drive myself back home and would have to wait for my ride. I did not think of it at the time, but I should have also said to him, “Don’t worry about me. Everything is cool. You can go back inside to your dungeon of tortures and await your next victims.” Oh, yeah, and I could also have added that he and the other nurses in there won’t have another go at me ever again! This second date had sealed it … NMMC and Hénock definitely are not compatible!
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“Ticked Off at NMMC” ~ © Hénock Gugsa (ሄኖክ ጉግሣ ) - 12/17/2010
* NMMC … is North Memorial Medical Clinic (hospital) in Robbinsville, MN
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