To the Editor:
Character in Search of an Exit: “Submitted for your approval, an ant, caught in a sand trap.”

This could be you. Your wife might call 9-1-1 and you then take a ride in an ambulance to the hospital.

You might be parked in a hallway for three days with a broken hip. Your ambulance may be told to hold in the parking lot, effectively turning your gurney into an emergency-room bed.

They might put you on a 12 lead so they can do an EKG [electrocardiogram] in your living room, as well as in the bus, when you get to the ER and again after you are there for a while. You might be so dehydrated they stick you repeatedly and still not create a good intravenous connection.

Then, to get a blood sample, they may suction out blood, with a single-use syringe that pulls the blood out. You’re conscious, so you can feel it being pulled from everywhere in your body and through your arm as if it were a pneumatic straw.

You may think you are lucky when you actually make it into the ER. Perhaps you have heart problems and have things thrown at you prophylactically. “Here’s your Protonix. Here’s a cup of water ….”

“Mister O’Brien, how do you feel? Is there any pain?”

“Mister O’Brien, based on your symptoms, your heart might be affected, so we are going to give you a shot of Lovenox to thin your blood just in case.”

“Mister O’Brien, we’re going to give you morphine for the pain. It may make you sleepy.”

“Now if you just wait here, someone will see you soon.”

“Nurse? Nurse? Anyone? Hello?”

“Yes?”

“I have been behind this door for six hours and I haven’t seen anyone. In order to pee I got up out of desperation to grasp for the hand-held urinal but it was out of my reach.”

After a somewhat reassuring conversation, I then feel penitent and we return to the previous status unchanged.

It is now hours later. By now I have pushed the nurse button so many times I’m sure I will be embarrassed when she finally comes. Eventually, I rip off all of my wires and the cuff, to reach for the urinal again.

It is better when I am able to pee. But after a few hours, I have filled the urinal up. OK, I figured, all the alarms are going off because I ripped all the wires off again; someone will definitely come now.

An hour-and-a-half later, I stretch both of my arms out so as not to pull out my now prophylactic IV. I pull the curtain, nudge the door a crack, and scream at a passerby, “Hey, can I get a nurse, or someone please?”

The shift has changed again. When a nurse finally comes she says: “Oh, well, everyone’s alarms go off all the time.”

The man next to me broke his hip. He is in excruciating pain. I know. He has been begging for help since before I arrived.

The nurse with 60 hours overtime tells him, “I’m sorry dear, I know it hurts, I called upstairs and someone will see you as soon as they can ….”

I’ve heard her say that so many times I’ve lost track of how many times she has said it.

“Pardon me? You haven’t eaten in two days? Oh, I’m sorry; let me see what I can get you. What would you like to eat? Anything? You want anything?”

I can’t seem to get my phone to hold a charge. I wasn’t thinking that this might be my lifeline by the end of the day. I left it by the TV and didn’t plug it in before bed.

“Oh my god! It hurts! It hurts so bad! Nurse, can’t you do something? Please?”

“I’m sorry, dear, I know it hurts, I’ve called upstairs ….”

“Sir, I am here to ask you if you would like to be moved into a special unit we are setting up. We don’t have any beds upstairs to move you to, so we are going to put you on this unit. There you will have one nurse to eight people instead of two nurses to 35. It will be better there ….”

They push me into another room. One that was previously used to isolate sick COVID patients. The door is closed again. The curtain drawn again. I am in the dark. It advances ….

I get up. Scream! I claw at the curtain!

I manage to call my wife just as the battery begins to fade. “You have to help get me out of here! Listen to me, please, please, come get me!”

I hear Rod Serling again. “Submitted for your approval, one Mark W. O’Brien entered into an ambulance and was asked what hospital he would like to go to ….”

“You can't give me an echocardiogram for five days? I’ve been here for three days! You want my to stay another five?”

“Help! Get me outta here! The sand is moving again!”

My wife arrives, I call my doctor, we rip the wires off. I scream that I am leaving! There is a mild protest. Then sympathy. A male nurse is kind enough to remove my IV.

We make a break for the door.

“Just pretend you’re a visitor until we reach the exit. When we get out of the building, move as fast as you can!”

When you get desperate and you start to feel trapped, it’s OK to run.

Mark W. O’Brien

Clarksville