The Return Of The Envelope

I was standing at the admissions desk as NRH filling out paperwork before my first ever PT session as an adult. I wasn’t freaked out about the PT. I’ve done that enough to have an odd comfort level. The paperwork was annoying, but typical, until I got to the “emergency contact” portion. That’s when I freaked out.

Who should be my emergency contact?

Typically it’s my mom, but I had second thoughts. She was 6 hours away if the traffic cooperated. If there was going to be a real emergency that required the informing of someone they should be closer than 6 hours away. I thought a pizza delivery “30 minutes of less” window would be ideal. So I put down my roommate. We barely knew each other at that point & couldn’t think of a single person who I knew would be O.K. with it, without asking first.

“When I was at NRH today I had to give an emergency contact. I listed you. If you’re not O.K. with it I can change it.”

“I’m fine with it. Just let me know where you keep your stuff. I keep an envelope of all my information right here.”

Well that was easy.

Now I just had to put together an envelope:
* Medical history
* Surgical History
* Important Phone Numbers
* Copy Of Insurance Card

I left it in my desk until I graduated. When I moved across the country I told my housemates where they could find my info, if needed, because I put down the house number as my contact (meaning there were at least 3 potential contacts).

Almost 2 months ago I went to urgent care in the worst pain of my life; because I needed another reason to put off having children, if at all. I sat in the waiting room while my mom filled out my forms trying not to gag & praying I’d blackout, since that seemed to be the only potential relief.

I was sent to the ER where I sat for the equivalent of forever, before I had to answer all their dumb questions AGAIN. I wish I had my envelope back, more than one actually.

“Can we hurry this up please?!?!?! I’m in a lot of pain here & I’m gonna barf.”

(Painfully unhelpful response I won’t repeat)

Twelve hours later I was being admitted to a medical unit because my test results were “inconclusive.” Guess what happens when you get admitted on a unit? You have to answer the same questions all over again, and this is after 24+ hours of no food, no sleep, a full day of tests, and lots of M0rphine & Z0fran. I was literally falling asleep when the attending came to do her new admission rounds, because at that point you really care what a hospitalist is/does.

The conclusion of all the “in-conclusion” was that I probably passed a kidney stone & it wasn’t my appendix. The evidence being one swollen kidney since no one was able to find the kidney stone or appendix.

My conclusion? Time to bring back the envelope.

I had a follow up with an urologist in order to attempt to put this whole thing to rest since my goal is to never repeat this experience. The first was to tell me that it does in fact look like I passed the stone & to give them more details about my time in the Big House. The second was to go through everything again with the urologist after an ultrasound.

I’m “back to normal.” No restrictions, since no one seems to be able to even guess how this all happened. It could happen again, or not. My appendix is still missing however.

*A similar version of this post was written on August 21, 2012

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