The St. John’s Urgent Care in Springfield is housed in the the Smith-Glynn Calloway building. I hobbled in and followed the signs to the Urgent Care waiting room. A sign on the wall told me to take a number and be seated, which I did and was.
Sure enough, in less than five minutes the desk lady called me and I hobbled up there. She asked a few questions and pulled up all my information (including the previous week’s broken toe episode) in her new nifty St. John’s system-wide computer. She knew more about me that Scott does. She then told me to have a seat and the nurse would call me back. When I asked how long I might expect the wait to be, she said I’d probably get into an exam room in 45 minutes to an hour. I hobbled back to my seat.
Pulling out my Bible and notebook, I flipped to where I was supposed to be reading that day, and the nurse opened the door to the inner sanctum and called my name. Great! This wasn’t going to take nearly as long as I had feared.
She took me to a small room, took my blood pressure, pulse, and pulse ox, and asked a number of questions. Then she told me that I should have a seat in the waiting room and she’d call me later. Interesting. I hobbled back to my seat in the waiting room.
Other than one bathroom break, that’s where I sat for the next hour or so. Once the Bible reading was done, I browsed some magazines and tried to ignore Oprah. I was seated under the TV, but the toe really hurt and I didn’t want to take the effort to move.
Eventually, a different nurse called my name again and escorted me to Room 4, which was to become my new home away from home. She, too, asked a few questions and pulled up my life story on the computer (“so the doctor will know where to look when he gets in here”) and left. I propped my foot, leaned my head against the wall and tried to sleep.
Maybe 15 minutes later, the doctor came in. He listened to my lungs (“no wheezing”), asked about my symptoms, gave my toe some cursory attention, and told me he wanted me to take a breathing treatment and have a chest x-ray. The nurse would set up the breathing treatment in this room and then I’d go to x-ray. After that, he would talk with me. Sounded good to me.
It was probably another 30 minutes or so by the time the breathing treatment was over. It did help some, and I was feeling a couple notches up from cruddy. Nurse then arrived and told me I need to go to x-ray. Now, I had spent a LOT of time in the Urgent Care waiting room and MORE time in Exam Room 4, and I had never seen x-ray or any signs directing one to x-ray.
“How far away is x-ray?”
“Well, it’s down at the end of the hall, around there (pointing).”
As we walked/hobbled out of Exam Room 4, I spied a wheelchair against the wall.
“Would it be okay if I wheeled myself? I broke my toe last week and it’s pretty sore.”
“Oh, okay. But I’ll push you.”
I don’t know what it is about being pushed in a wheelchair, but I really dislike it. I guess it’s the total loss of control thing and feeling powerless. However, I didn’t feel good enough to argue, so she pushed, and it was a good thing, as it would have taken me five minutes to hobble to x-ray!
Nurse parked me at the x-ray registration place, where they pulled up my information and asked me a lot of questions. I was then wheeled to a little changing room to don everyone’s favorite garb. An x-ray technician then wheeled me farther into the bowels of the building and did two nice x-rays of my upper torso. She wheeled me back to the changing room and then handed me off to the Nurse, who had miraculously re-appeared to wheel me “home.”
She trundled me through some secret passageways that brought me back to Exam Room 4 from the opposite direction. As I stood to disembark, the doctor, who was working at a counter nearby told me to wait a minute. He said he needed some blood work on me, so I would need to go to the lab. (We had passed the lab earlier on the way to x-ray.) Back into my vehicle I plopped, and Nurse wheeled me back around the circle, out through the Urgent Care waiting room, and down to the lab.
At the lab, I went to the registration desk, where yet another nice lady pulled up my records and asked me several questions. Again. Then I wheeled myself over to a corner of the lab waiting room and prepared to wait. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long. In less than ten minutes, a friendly phlebotomist called my name and I hobbled slowly to the guillotine. Because I had not known I was going to have blood drawn, I had not drunk my customary 1.5 liters of pre-blood-draw water. ( I am what is known as a “tough stick” and I am always easier to draw if I am over-hydrated.)
To save the friendly phlebotomist time and myself pain, I told her that they usually have to go with a butterfly in the back of the hand. She was agreeable and did her job almost painlessly, extricating the requisite FOUR tubes of blood. Bandaged up, I hobbled back to my wheelchair in the lab waiting room. Nurse had not miraculously reappeared this time, so I wasn’t sure what to do. I could hobble back to the Urgent Care waiting room, but if I did that, I would be leaving an Urgent Care wheelchair in the lab waiting room, where it clearly did not belong. My toe would also be very sore; sorer than it already was.
I decided to wheel myself back to Urgent Care, and I quickly gained added respect for my sister-in-law, who is in a wheelchair. I always wondered why her chair has such a low back, and now I know. With the typical hospital high back version, you can’t reach far enough back on the rims to get much momentum. Very poor ergonomics!
Back at Urgent Care, I parked and hobbled up the registration lady. I gave her my name and told her I was back from both x-ray and lab. She pulled up my information, refrained from asking any questions, and told me I could go back to Exam Room 4. I, of course was nearly there by the time she finished talking. Back in my room, I grabbed two different magazines, plopped into my chair, propped my toe, and began reading.
I read Midwest Living and 417 Magazine cover-to-cover. I read everything else of even moderate interest I could find in that room from beginning to end. I had turned my cell phone off to be courteous, so I didn’t know what time it was, but out in the work area I could hear ladies talking about who was ordering what for supper. There was extended discussion over whether or not a certain place offered fried chicken as well as grilled chicken. So far, I had had only water and two Certs that day, and despite my sickness, I was actually beginning to get hungry. I called through the closed door, “I’ll take the grilled chicken.” They laughed, but I never got a meal.
I proceeded to sit in that room for a full two hours. Between the raspy breathing and the tortured toe, I couldn’t get comfortable enough to sleep, and I was bored beyond belief. I decided to at least open my door, hoping that maybe there would be something interesting going on out in the hall. I hobbled over to the door to open it and several heads turned to look at me. Seeing a two foot high stack of magazines on a counter and said, “Uh, I was just looking for something else to read.”
The doctor was working at a counter and he said to me, “I’m just waiting on one of your lab results to come back and then I’ll be in to talk to you.” That was nice to know. At least I hadn’t been completely forgotten!
It was about 30 minutes later when he finally entered Exam Room 4 with his verdict: asthmatic bronchitis. I should take a round of Zithromax and use a different inhaler. His friendly staff would fax my scripts in to Walgreens in Ozark and once Nurse came in with some papers for me to sign, I was free to go. She came, I signed, I went.
Out I hobbled, through the Urgent Care waiting room, past the lab, almost down to x-ray and out the front door to my van, now parked all by itself way out near the street. I drove to Walgreens and for once, they had my meds ready. 20 more minutes and I was home, where Jessica had made a fabulous meal of White Chili and fruit salad. It tasted wonderful, and by the next day I was breathing much better and feeling like a person again.
And since I had to wait SO long at Urgent Care, I was seen by an M.D. (not a nurse practitioner), so whichever insurance company it is that carries my exorbitantly-priced health insurance will certainly pay for my visit.
The moral to the story: If you feel you must get sick, do it on a Monday, so you can schedule an appointment with your own doctor on about Wednesday or Thursday. Not only will you save time, you will probably be sicker by the time the doctor sees you, which will make his/her diagnosis even easier!