The reason for a trip for me to the local urgent care is silly - I popped my finger trying to get my husband's compression socks on his feet.
I felt it pop two weeks ago. I waited nearly a week before going to the urgent care. I knew they'd want an x-ray and I couldn't continue to assist my husband with his dressing if I had my finger in a splint or my hand wrapped up.
But finally, my entire hand ballooned up; all of my fingers swelled, and I couldn't use my hand anyway, so I called the urgent care.
The person answering the phone said there was only one person ahead of me, so I drove to the facility, which is about 15 minutes away. My husband went along "for moral support" even though he stayed in the car. It was a long outing for him, as it took longer to get an x-ray than it did for him to have his hip replaced.
I arrived, checked in, gave them my insurance card and $50 copay, and sat. And sat some more.
During that time, a woman came in with gauze held up to her face. She went to the registration desk and told them she couldn't get her nose to stop bleeding.
The blood was gushing. She dripped blood on the counter. She asked for more tissues. "We don't have any tissues," the woman said. No one budged to get anything, either, and I knew there was a bathroom about four steps from the reception desk.
Can you image that? They just sat there and let the woman drip blood.
Horrified, I dug in my pocketbook and pulled out a small package of tissues I always carry and rushed to hand it to the woman. She thanked me gratefully and had to stand there giving her insurance information, etc., blood oozing out all the while, and then was told to sit and wait.
Thank heavens all she was doing was bleeding a lot. She sat down. Blood dripped onto her pants. She thanked me again for the tissues. I started to get up and go to the other public restroom to get her some toilet paper or paper towels when her husband came in with more tissues and a towel. I stayed where I was.
Finally, a nurse came out with gauze. She gave some to the woman and had her pinch her nose together and took her on back. Of course, I expected her to go before me. She was bleeding.
More people came in; a woman with a mask on and four kids who did not have masks. A man who looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. I texted my husband a few times to tell him I was delayed and suggested he get out of the car and stretch, but not to walk without a cane and his cellphone. He texted back that he was moving around. I was afraid he'd get stiff from sitting and I was afraid he'd fall in the parking lot.
Over an hour after I arrived, someone called my name. I went back to rooms that were familiar yet not - this had once been my physician's office, over 20 years ago, now - and I parked my backside in a chair beside a nurse who sat at a computer.
The room had a loud roaring fan noise going on in it. The air handler for the air conditioner was in that room. It was blowing full and hard and making enough noise to make the running of the bulls in Spain sound tame in comparison. The nurse and I yelled at one another over the noise. I held up my swollen hand and she said, "Oh gosh, yes, that needs to be looked at."
Then she yelled out my medications to update those. My regular doctor is not a Carilion doctor, so their information on me is usually out of date.
She took my blood pressure, and it was higher than normal.
Then I was left alone for a long while. I listened to the roar in the room. It reminded me of a dragon that couldn't shut its mouth, and I determined it really wasn't a good room to put a somewhat nervous person in. No wonder my blood pressure was up.
The room itself was a beige color, with nothing on the walls. Most Carilion facilities have bare walls. I'm sure it's more sterile and cleaner to do that, but it also makes what is already a bad experience that much worse. It's a total corporate look with a lack of personality.
Finally, a physician's assistant entered. She looked at my hand, touched the middle finger and watched me flinch, ordered x-rays, and left.
I never saw her again.
I went to the restroom (four steps from the receptionist desk) and then a young man told me to follow him to x-ray.
He sat me down and put my hand in position. He did not put on any kind of protective gear on me, nothing to protect my thyroid or anything else, and I was too nervous to think about it until he'd started taking x-rays. Honestly, shouldn't that be standard procedure by now, to put protective gear on anybody having x-rays?
He led me back to the room. The air handler roared. I paced back and forth. I counted the ceiling tiles (51, not including the big hole where there was one missing). I tried to read but could not concentrate. I texted my husband again to check on him.
Finally, another young man came in and said the x-rays didn't show anything broken. He put a metal splint on my middle finger, wrapped some tape around it, and then handed me the tape. "This is yours now," he said. "You can take that off to shower. Wear it about a week to 10 days."
He handed me paperwork and told me I could go.
My husband was somewhat irate when I finally got in the car. I had been at the urgent care for over two hours. "I saw a lot of people go in and out of there in the time you were in there," he said.
I shrugged. Old women with possible broken fingers were not priorities for anyone, so I was not surprised. His leg had swollen from the heat and being in the car, so I hurried home to get ice for him.
In the end, I had a "soft tissue injury" although the next day, when the radiologist report came back, there was indication of prior dislocation, a bone spur, and osteoarthritis. I copied off what it said and reported it to my regular primary care physician, who wrote me back and told me to use ice and take Tylenol since I can't take anti-inflammatories because of my stomach issues.
For a few more days, I had to help my husband get his compression socks on as he still couldn't manage them by himself. I couldn't do that and wear the splint, too, so basically, I reinjured my finger every morning until finally, Saturday, he could get his socks on without my help.
My hand is still swollen. I can't make a fist with it or play my guitar. I shouldn't even be typing this because I have to take the splint off to do that.
I am not a good patient when it comes to caring for myself sometimes.
