“Just go in the Emergency Room entrance madam and they will take care of you,” were the words calmly spoken to me by the paramedics. They would go to a designated entrance with that special cargo known as my husband. I was to go to the Public entrance. Of course, I followed the ambulance closely while simultaneously biting my nails and praying that everything would be O.K. Pulling into the first parking spot I saw I hurriedly parked and scurried through the doors only to be directed to have a seat. With in the first few minutes of my arrival to the hospital emergency room I was made aware that the trauma surrounding me was of no significance to those behind the glass divider. Upon the first words spoken it rang out like bells in a steeple; that I was just a number. Why this matters to one wife of a stroke survivor may not be that pertinent. But when I acknowledge the vast amount of individuals who are thrust suddenly into a world of fear upon walking through those doors of a hospital each day it somehow seems important. Somehow, those scenes portrayed in the medical TV dramas don’t emphasize this not so miniscule detail surrounding hospital emergency.

Basically, my husband was alert, talking clearly and fully aware when the paramedics loaded him in their van. He just couldn’t move on his left side but because he spoke for himself I had it in my head that this wasn’t so bad. When I stated to the front desk I was here with my husband, whom was just brought by ambulance, and asked to be directed to his room I was greeted by a nonenthusiastic, “Have a seat and we will call you.” monologue. It was added that they were still checking my husband in to a room…

This, my dear readers is even more so when I became aware that I was now a number in a system. No one seemed to care that I was scared, worried, confused, tired, panicked, and still in my pajamas. I sat in the waiting room far longer than I should have. I was left there in a waiting room to pace, wondering what was taking so long, and debating if I should call anyone. More so I wanted to be by my husband’s side, holding his hand, not nervously pacing in a waiting area wishing I would have road with him in the ambulance. In reality these people were doing their job but as I watched the desk clerk, the various individuals come and go behind her desk, and the clock I became angry. I felt 45 minutes was beyond a reasonable amount of time that had lapsed. I scurried to the desk once again and harshly requested to be taken to my husband. Conversation took place among those behind that glass and finally I was buzzed into the Emergency Room as if there were an underground casino establishment. It was when I entered the area where my husband had medical staff scurry around him that I heard, for the first time, the word “Stroke.”

From the moment I learned that my husband was having a stroke I felt like I was swept up into a tornado. Questions were hurled at me regarding my husband’s history, insurance, and how would we be paying today. “Did he have a living will, advanced directive, or DNR preference?” On and on the questions and comments were tossed at me like daggers. My brain was numb and slow to respond as if I was dreaming. “I didn’t know all the answers, but I did, I just couldn’t think at that moment.” Somewhere in the midst of it all I stopped and looked at my husband…All the nurses, the doctors, and the machines moved in unison with one another. Never once did anyone or thing acknowledge the emotion I was feeling in that time or the role I had just been thrust into…I, just became a stroke survivor’s wife without warning or alarm. I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t asked for this or prepared myself. How could I? It was the unknown. I didn’t know if I could trust anyone. Yet in the same token those treating my husband maneuvered with such certainty. It was like I was pulled into a country line dance only I didn’t know the steps. I truly felt the expectation of the medical personal was that I should know… “That is it, they did what they do and now that I was in their midst, a new caregiver, I too should know what I am to do…”

Certainly, I do not wish to demean those who work in the medical arena for their service is important. However, I do desire to create awareness. When someone requires Emergency Room treatment it is difficult to be a loved one on the other side. We are an extension of the patient but not the patient. We are immediately brushed aside, but also at the same time made to be a part of the care giving team. I questioned that night, I questioned that next day and I questioned for weeks, and I still question “Where were those in the health arena reaching out to help me?” Perhaps it was customer service issues, minimal staffing, or the time of day. At that moment of crisis when I had entered the doorway to a new world I just wanted one person who was assigned to get me some water, hold my hand, note what I need to do, and interpret what medically was being said to me. So, my quest, with this blog, is to erase “The just a number factor”…because loved ones and/or caregivers are far more than just a number.