1 /5 TJ Mayne: I was admitted through the ER one evening with a pulmonary embolism. At first the pain was bearable and I declined opioid treatment (I dislike opioids, they make me nauseous and I don’t like the cognitive effects). But the pain got worse and became excruciating and I asked for relief. The nurses ignored it at first, but as it got worse called my PCP to prescribe pain treatment. He allowed one dose of hydrocodone, which helped with the pain but left me nauseous and unable to fall sleep.
When it wore off in 2 hours, I asked to be switched to a different opioid. The nurse called my doctor again. This time his service couldn’t reach him or the physician on call and there was no hospitalist available to intervene. After hours of the worst pain in my life, making it nearly impossible to breathe, I got up to go to the nurses station to beg for help. The nurse took me back to the room and sat there for 15 minutes telling me not to get up again. Nothing about the pain or my inability to breathe. She indifferently watched me writhe, coldly repeating: don’t get up again.
The next morning I fired the admitting physician when he made rounds and filed a complaint with the California Medical Board. The hospitalist who came on duty immediately treated the pain with a different opioid. It worked and I was able to breathe again. It was discharged later that day, declining the prescription for an outpatient opioid.
It was the worst night of my life, worst pain in my life. Their excuse for the poor treatment? They were concerned that I might be an opioid addict.
Their gross indifference to suffering was inhumane, the nurse more concerned with her own convenience than my pain. I will never go to the Queen again. Were I spurting blood I would take the trip up valley to Adventist rather than risk being admitted to the Queen. The experience was that horrendous.