My super-fun journey through the health-care system.

So, I was sitting quietly and minding my own business, when my chest started to hurt.

At first, it was just a bit of discomfort, maybe a burning sensation. Then, all hell broke loose.

When I say “all hell broke loose,” I mean my chest hurt. Really hurt. Hard to catch your breath, really sharp, wow, I’ve NEVER felt anything like this before, is-there-time-to-write-my-will hurt.

I started to pace the floor. Was this a heart attack? I couldn’t imagine a heart attack being much worse. After a few more minutes, I suddenly COULD imagine a heart attack being much worse, which scared the last few wits that I had left, out of me. However, I was pacing the floor, which I DIDN’T imagine would be happening if I was actually having a heart-attack.

Heart-attack or not? What else could it be? It’s very interesting having these little debates with yourself while your chest feels like it’s ripping in two. And frankly, my closest brush with medical training was watching Scrubs, so the internal debate was pretty futile. My wife settled it – she said we were leaving.

Yes, you read correctly: Getting into the car and leaving. Now at this point, you are probably wondering why we weren’t calling 911. We live in a very rural area, and there’s a fire station not two miles from us. Frankly, hopping in the car was probably faster than the phone call. Of course, that wasn’t the best thinking, since it’s a volunteer fire department, and unmanned if there is no call. But luck was with us, everyone had just got back from a fire, and the building was bustling with activity.

Activity that was turned to me upon our arrival. I was assured that it was a very good idea to go along with them – after all, they had another gentleman who came to them with similar symptoms just last week – and he “coded” on the way to the hospital. So it was good that he was with them, so they could bring him back – not that they were trying to scare me or anything, but they were still pretty keyed-up from that call, yes sir, you bet.

I guess volunteers have a funny way to keep possible heart-attack victims calm. I’m still looking into that. Maybe there’s a different rule-book or something…

So I wound up on a gurney, and checking out the finest that modern emergency vehicles could offer. I was treated to EKG’s and saline solution. I had sprouted wires and been officially started on a drip. By now, the pain had actually passed – but it’s better to be safe than sorry, right? After all, I was already on my trip to the city, why stop now? Emergency people frown at that. Even volunteer emergency people; that part of the rule-book seemed to be the same.

Next, I had my ‘amusement park’  moment. When we arrived at the emergency room, I was wheeled out of the truck – by one guy. This has to be explained for you to get the full picture: He was outside of the vehicle pulling my gurney, which happened to be about five feet off of the ground in the truck. Looking out over the open door, I had a feeling of going over the edge on a roller-coaster – except instead of  that thrilling first plunge, I was about to be dropped when the un-manned end of my gurney cleared the doorway. And I figured that would hurt. But at least, I told myself, I was already at the hospital. Then I was treated to a magic trick, as my savior pushed a button on the underside of the gurney, and it sprouted sturdy, wheeled legs – and then I remembered – That’s right, I’d seen that on Scrubs.

In the emergency room, you are asked your name and how old you are. Often. Every new person who sees you asks you your name, and how old you are. And, every time, you think, “Isn’t that on the chart that you’re looking at?” And after awhile, you start to wonder if you’re getting it wrong, and maybe you really are that sick – otherwise, why would they keep asking? Next emergency, I’m writing my name and age on a three-by-five card, and flashing it to everyone who asks.

After quite a few hours, quite a few questions (other than my name and age) and quite a few tests, a verdict was reached. My gallbladder was guilty of impersonating a heart-attack. It forced a big gallstone through a little bile duct that really wasn’t meant to do things like that, so God, in His infinite wisdom, put a BUNCH of pain recepters there, to make me think I was about to treat everyone around me to a live presentation of the chest-burster scene from Alien.

Armed with the truth of my condition, I went home with a referral to a specialist, and some Vicodin, so if another gallstone rears it’s ugly head, I can feel like I am floating on puffy clouds of pain-free goodness until it passes.

But I know what’s really going to happen. I have no medical insurance.

When the bill arrives, I’m going to have a heart-attack.