So if you remember from Friday, at some point in our past between 5 and 14 years ago Hannah was in the hospital with a mysterious low grade fever that had lasted over 2 weeks. We had been admitted and were placed in a shared room. The nurse had informed us that I wasn’t allowed to stay in the room with her overnight and she would return when my curfew had arrived. Well, the next thing I knew I woke from the cold hospital floor to Hannah crying and the nurse whispering in harsh tones to the pair of us what horribly disrespectful people we were. How dare I disobey her when she specifically informed me that I could not stay the night in the room? Hannah was exhausted and kept trying to explain that we had simply fallen asleep waiting for her to return and tell me it was time to leave. I was so groggy from lack of sleep that I wasn’t really processing any of it, not to mention my left side was half frozen from sleeping on the floor and half broken from, well, sleeping on the floor. As the nurse ensured we were sufficiently shamed for our ridiculous behavior we heard a quiet, strained voice from the next bed calling the nurse. The nurse gave us a look like, “You see what I mean? Do you realize what you’ve done to that poor woman over there?” (her expressions were wonderfully effective).
Much to our surprise, we heard something completely different when she stepped over to hear her concerns. “I don’t care at all if he stays in here. You need to let that young couple stay together. They’re scared and they’re in love and he doesn’t want to leave his wife’s side and you need to be a little nicer to them. You did tell them you’d come back and you never did. I want him to stay with his wife, so you stop using me as an excuse.” Hannah and I looked at one another wide eyed and almost smiling at our fortune. The nurse stepped back over to us and said, “Apparently Ms. Blah-blah is willing to overlook you staying here just one night since it’s so late and you’re so far from home.” I was thinking to myself, “You do realize we heard the whole conversation right?” But I wasn’t about to press my luck. Nurse Jerky McMeany-face even brought me blanket and pillow to make the floor a little less deadly.
The next day we had the morning off because apparently the doctors in that hospital don’t show up to work before 10 in the morning, but after 10 we got started with another round of testing; blood tests, physical exams, and questions, questions and more questions. Each new doctor that came in would ask the same set of questions, write it all down in her chart, lean her forward and punch her in the back asking, “Does that hurt?” It hurt every time in the same place. They’d write something else and then steal the chart so that the next doctor had to start all over with the same questions and exams. They diagnosed her with everything they’d ever heard on ER and House and then a few more. At one point they were sure that she had an infection in the lining of her heart, which only occurs in IV drug users and the elderly. They diagnosed her with lupus, MS, Wilson’s disease, and many others I can’t remember and couldn’t pronounce.
The diagnostics team stormed in shortly after lunch, separated us, and began grilling us about our sexual fidelity. They didn’t just ask the question. They tried, very pitifully, to use coercive and manipulative tactics to catch us in a lie. I wasn’t lying but I really had to utilize self control to keep from just messing with them. I felt like they were trying to play out a TV episode by forcing drama. It was to the point that several of their line deliveries felt like rehearsed line deliveries from a film shoot. They still weren’t convinced so they ordered more blood tests for HIV and AIDs, and that was the point where my attitude in the whole thing started to change.
They took Hannah for some more tests, one of which was a CT scan on her chest to check for infection in the lungs. While I was waiting I started brooding over the way they had treated her, the ridiculous diagnostic methods, and the attitude that they seemed to have towards us as patients. When we were back in our room we talked about it and decided that we couldn’t stay there forever without any answers. We were out 2 days of our lives and no closer to answers. Her symptoms hadn’t gotten any more severe and our lives were falling apart back home between work, ministry, and the kids. I finally requested to speak directly to her doctor (I actually had no idea which one was technically her doctor) and after about an hour we received a phone call. I informed him that since we were no closer to answers and an indefinite hospital stay wasn’t within our realm of possibility that we would be leaving soon. He started out his response almost fatherly and tried to ease my mind, “We’ll figure it out soon and you’ll be on your way.” I stuck with my decision.
“If this is serious you could be endangering the life of your spouse.”
“Not anymore than this insane battery of tests and chemicals and stress is doing.”
“You can’t just walk out of a hospital.”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure that we are completely able, and I know that we are more than willing. You have two hours to figure this out and then we are leaving.”
I must give him credit that instead of writing us off and sending us on our way, he must have applied himself at least partially in those last two hours because shortly before my deadline we received another phone call. During the CT scan of her lungs they accidently caught the top edge of her kidney (located directly under the spot in her back that they punched repeatedly) which was bright with infection. They prescribed some antibiotics and sent us home. The thing that really got me about the whole ordeal was that she had been diagnosed with a urinary tract infection at the first visit. I was just as frustrated with myself as I was with the hospital staff because even though I’m not a doctor, I should have made the connection. I assumed that they ruled all things urinary out when they started accusing us of marital infidelity, but apparently I was giving them too much credit; a mistake I would not soon make again.
If House has taught me nothing else over the last five season, it's that...It's never Lupus...
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