I don’t know who found me. I know that I fell down the concrete steps and I did a backflip, came down hard on the back of my head. Hard. Real hard.

I know I was out. The first thing I remember is a scramble. It’s images and sounds. A siren. Then back out again. Then bright lights and people all around me and pain like I haven’t had since a heart attack. When you hurt that bad, and hear a siren then see bright lights, you know it’s bad. Medics don’t like using the siren and lights. Has to be bad for them to do that at night. Even in shock and semi-consciousness, I knew this as a dim fact.

Someone had his face in mine. I kept my prescription sunglasses because they checked my eyes. Vision changes and differences in pupil size and reaction mean a head injury is serious. Mine were dilated but reactive. I heard people moving around. Plastic packages torn open. A fever pace.

And someone’s asking me my name. My bracelet was a John Doe. But with a sick sense of humor, because it says, Doe, Dingle. WTF? I get the joke and all, but that’s unprofessional to say the very least, highly insulting to say the most.

But it’s only the beginning of the nightmare. The unit I was in does take things seriously. The docs had their hands full. They were amazing all the same. The nurses I got were beyond the best. I know how trauma workers have a high burnout rate. To do the job, they have to detach emotions, and yet be compassionate. That’s no easy feat. But because it’s a trauma unit, and I wasn’t bleeding out, I quickly was placed on the back burner. That’s okay because I was in such pain that I didn’t care. I had a C-collar on, but it was slowly ruled unnecessary. They did imaging, blood work and had me connected to all the monitors. I got tired of hearing those alarms. Low resting heart rate. That’s bradycardia. It’s not exactly serious unless the number falls too low. The lowest I remember seeing was 45. That’s an athlete’s heart rate. I’m not an athlete.

Now comes the nightmare. Forget your ideas about dignity. Your body is going to be unclothed. But you’re so hurt, you have to forget it. I made quips about having a johnson so small that even the tight “cowboy” catheter got blown off when I finally let go. They gave me a strong dose of lasix and I was probably dehydrated. But I was putting out what I thought was way too much fluid.

I would beg for pain relief but was so dizzy they would not give me anything but Tylenol. And really, anything that takes the edge off that level of pain is a blessing.

I’d fall asleep. My apnea was strong enough that I probably set off seismographs at Cal Tech. I’d wake up after a few minutes. In there, you don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You won’t want to. Food tastes like the black plague and donkey dicks.

They wanted to transfer me that first night to some other hospital I’ve never heard of (I’ve been in lots of hospitals). But I was not having it. I was scheduled for more work in the morning and then release. I laid down all night. The whole time I slept a few minutes. I had an MRI late, and lying on a stretcher with vertigo and being on the first floor, there’s this huge atrium that lets you see all the way to helipads on the roof. That’s where the nurses go to smoke. Looking up made me realize two things. The vertigo was a symptom. Something is going on, and I don’t know what. It’s bad. The day before the night I fell, I was dizzy and fatigued and my left leg kept giving out. I should have been more careful. I believe that I have a thyroid problem or that I may need a pacemaker.

By the time I was released I could already remember little of what happened. I’m still very sick. Brady continues, blood pressure goes soaring with my slightest bit of movement or anxiety, the dizziness is back (a symptom of brady), and now, so is the headache. Their job was to stabilize and rule out trauma. This they did, and now here I am, using a walker but needing a wheelchair. Where I go from here I have no clue. All I know is I’m really bad off, and I think I will get worse. Jeez, at one point I was in isolation. Nobody came through those doors to my cubicle without a cap, mask, gown and gloves. They thought my symptoms indicated possible meningitis. I’m happy it wasn’t that!

I’m exhausted and it took three days to write this. I won’t be writing anything for a few days. Maybe longer.

THE UGLY

Now for the bad stuff. I warned you it was coming. At night, you rarely see anyone. Anyone. Then, you can hear all the banter between them while they talk with inexcusable cruelty and amazing shamelessness. They will go off to vacant rooms to sleep and even have sex. You can’t imagine. I knew that this goes on; doctors and nurses are human. It’s admirable that they sleep when they are tired so they can take good care of you, but the other matter, well, they don’t hide it. I saw two individuals so horny that one grabbed the other’s butt, and that person turned and looked at me, then admonished the other to be careful. Then the first one came to my room and we spoke. Nice conversation but I realized that he was just getting my mind off what he thought I’d seen. I know how people are. Then the second one, the butt-grabber, showed up and was crossly urging the other one to get moving. A third person showed up and the first one said that he would be covering while the other two “had to do something” and of course, I never saw the 3 of them again. Glory be, that’s shameful.

Then there’s the black male who came in with a GSW. Shot on the killing streets of Baltimore.

As they wheeled the stretcher past my unit, I heard him moaning loudly. A man in great pain.

I began praying for him. My eyes began to tear up. I can’t stand it when I see and hear people suffering so acutely. The room they took him to was across from mine, maybe 50 feet. Quickly, the room filled with doctors and nurses and they worked intensely. His leads to monitors were placed and every alarm sounded. They tried, but he couldn’t be saved. Observers crowding the doorway and hall were students and other team members, laughing and cracking wise. A Baltimore City police officer had said, “I didn’t think he’d make it here alive.” Well, it didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything they could do to help this guy. As the doctor called it, a nurse clearly said, “Oh well. Wasn’t one of my patients.”

That’s one of the most evil and cold-hearted things I’ve ever heard. And look, I get it. They get hardened like that. They say those things to cope. Otherwise they’d crack up. But one should never, ever say such a thing where other patients can hear. It fills them with a mix of anger, horror and hopelessness. You hurt them.

When the day shift came on that second day, and the doc was talking to me, the doorway curtain was only open a little bit. Nurses in pink scrubs walked by, a lot of them. Gawking in at me, grinning! I said to the doctor, “who are all these people, smiling and gawking in at me? I feel like an exhibit in the freak show.”

He said, “that’s my team,” but that made it worse.

A few minutes later I heard him telling them, “he’s been through a lot in the past two days, so don’t do that.” Very calm, very professional, but stern enough that I’m sure it got the point across. I was not comforted. Had they been whispering in the break room, trading stories of the guy who couldn’t keep a rubber on, the guy with a skeeter’s peeter? Actually those things were too tight. That’s why the pressure of my heavy flow blew it up like a water balloon and forced it to leak. But they do this stuff, nurses. Be warned that this is no reflection on you, but on them. Unprofessional behavior in hospital staff is not new. It’s always happening and always will. The important thing is your care, its quality. I’ve been in hospitals that are absolute nightmares. I think that’s the inspiration for hospital levels in Silent Hill games. UMD Shock Trauma is not like that. I’ve read of bad experiences there, but I still rate it as a five star hospital. Even the best will have flaws, and with such a massive staff, bad things are bound to happen. That’s how it goes. I also found one complaint a bit hard to swallow. It’s possible that it happened, but so unlikely that I tend to doubt its veracity. Complaints are made in a sea of emotions, and I take that into consideration without making hard conclusions or judgements.

I was given the best care I could have hoped for, and remember that I said I’ve been in ERs and intensive care units all over Maryland. I rate Sinai and UMD the highest, St. Agnes third, but first in emergency cardiology and NICU. The worst by far is Bayview and Franklin Square. Those are where people go to die.

All this said, I finally learned who it was who found me. The woman next door. I thanked her, hugged her and let her know that I loved her. I could have lain there all night if not for her. The shock would most definitely have killed me. I owe my life to her, and God.

Now.

Here’s what I want from you. Take care of yourself. Yes, I mean you. The one reading this right now. Shock Trauma boasts a 95% survival rate, but you don’t want to go there.

My thanks to my doctors and nurses! Autumn, Kate (OT), and the day shift nurse my first day. Don’t remember her name, but she was also a Navy Reservist, and her husband is a Marine. She was great. There was a young black male who took me to the MRI department. The elevator he needed wasn’t working, so he took a roundabout route. His kindness and sensitivity were amazing, and his knowledge of the complex layout was most impressive. I’d thank more people, but my head still hurts and I can’t think. If you want, say a prayer for them. They save lives. And if you’ve a mind to, ask God to help me out one more time. I’m sure that that kind of prayer does bring miracles. I could use one of those.

Please be kind to others. Be good to yourself. Take care and remember that God will help you, if only you ask.

May God bless you and keep you safe.