I scheduled a routine colonoscopy at the New River Valley Outpatient Surgical Center in Christiansburg, Virginia. Walking to the entrance I became faint. Only grasping the door handle and dropping to my knees prevented a blackout. Vicki ran for help.
I was wheeled to the pre-op suite where I was hooked-up to a monitor and an IV started. Although very weak and dizzy, I began to feel cocky enough to joke with Vicki and the nurses.
Two hours later the surgeon entered. I told him, “I need two procedures, a colonoscopy and a debridement of the decubitus ulcer (bed sore) that developed while waiting for you.”
I don’t think he appreciated my humor.
The anesthesiologist entered who after listening to my heart ordered a rhythm strip that showed I was in atrial fibrillation. He said, “We’re sending you by ambulance to Carilion Hospital across the street.”
“Carilion Hospital!!! Please, please, please don’t send me to Carilion Hospital. (I consider all hospitals death traps and had heard that Carilion was the worst because the administration overworked the staff and put more emphasis on completing detailed electronic medical records than good patient care.)
“Please don’t send me to Carilion,” I continued. “I want to go to Texas. Put me on a plane to Texas. They have great hospitals in Texas. Carilion is a terrible hospital.”
Vicki said, “You’re not being a good patient.”
The surgeon and anesthesiologist tried to sooth me, “You can’t take a plane to Texas. A long plane trip would be even more dangerous than Carilion.”
An ambulance was called.
Carilion Hospital dispatch said that they couldn’t send an ambulance for two hours. A county ambulance appeared about an hour later with the excuse that they had difficulty finding a driver. (I am not making this up.)
In the ambulance I was informed that they couldn’t take me to the hospital until I was hooked to their monitor as they fumbled with the cardiac leads. I again became a bad patient.
“What is your occupation?” I was asked.
“I’m a doctor.”
“That figures.”
They then began to draw blood.
“What is the deal! The hospital emergency room is less than a minute away!!!” I yelled.
“Company policy,” I was told.
In the ER I was so dehydrated that it took two nurses stabbing me multiple times in an attempt to draw more blood.
“What’s wrong with the seven vials they drew in the ambulance?” I screamed as I progressed from a bad patient to a horrible one.
“Wrong color stoppers,” came the reply.
In the meantime the nurses allowed the IV bag to empty. Severe dehydration had collapsed all of my veins so none of the nurses could start another IV leaving me vulnerable if my condition worsened.
The ER doctor appeared who told me that since it was late Friday evening there was no one available to do a cardioversion (a procedure to restore a normal heart rhythm). “Although you are still in atrial fib you seem stable enough to go home. Take an aspirin Saturday and Sunday to reduce the risk of stroke and come back Monday morning when they may have the staff to convert you.”
I became very quite, stared into his eyes and said in a calm, deliberate voice, “I want the cardiologist down here now. I don’t care if he is about to shoot par on the golf course, having dinner with the governor or watching Scrubs reruns. He is on call for the emergency room. You get him down here now!”
Two minutes later Dr. Ravi appeared. He carefully examined me, ordered an echocardiogram, placed me on the blood thinner Eliquis and the anti-arrhythmic, propranolol. My heart rhythm returned to normal sometime during the night.
Diagnosis: Low potassium secondary to the colonoscopy prep caused the atrial fibrillation. Lesson: Drink plenty of Gatorade before a colonoscopy.
Surviving the Carilion death trap broadened my sense of humor. But because belly laughs are under appreciated at the graveside, I am planning a return to Texas where they have good hospitals…and where they are more tolerant of horrible patients.