If there is one thing for certain about making a trip to the Emergency Room these days during all the Corona virus panic, it is this: there is no actual treatment protocol in place for Corona virus patients.
One practically has to be either dying or close enough to death to be admitted to the hospital in order for anyone to do something beyond being told to go home, get some rest, take a couple of Tylenol, and if you happen to be burning up with fever or you just can’t breathe, then come back, wait in line for another two or three hours, and the hospital staff might be able to accommodate you.
How do I know this to be true? I lived through it, twice.
It was some of the most horrific bungling of patient care I have ever experienced in my lifetime.
But let me explain just a bit to make myself clear.
According to some doctors the Corona virus evolves in four states: initial symptoms, aches and pains, fever and possible vomiting, and then eventual shortness of breath and nearness unto death.
I my case, I had already been a few days along and the virus, which I initially thought was the onset of a cold, had grown to Stage 3, where my fever was spiking at a high of 103.6.
At the time I was taking as many Tylenol and Motrin as I dared, since I knew that taking too many of either can cause serious internal organ problems, like liver or kidney failure, or simply internal bleeding.
Also, I was iced down with ice packs on my wrists, feet, legs, and an ice vest—that I would normally use for umpiring on hot, Texas, summer days—to try to get my body temperature down.
Nothing was working! The virus was waging war on my body, and especially my lungs (I was eventually diagnosed with “COVID Pneumonia”), and I was losing the battle badly.
So, my wife hurried me over to the Emergency Room at a hospital I had routinely visited for other things like taking physicals, since my primary care doctor (who had long since retired) practiced out of that hospital.
Since I had the Corona virus, my wife could not come in with me. So, she dropped me off at the door with the understanding that we may not see each other again for a very long time.
When I walked in the door I told them I had been diagnosed with the virus and immediately the attendant wanted to place another mask on the mask I was already wearing, along with a face shield.
I told her I could not breathe with two masks on, let alone the token I was wearing.
The short of it was I got rid of the second mask, filled out a whole lot of initial paper work, handed it in, and went and sat in my corner and waited and waited and waited.
Finally, after about an hour, I was summoned to go talk to a woman who asked me about my symptoms and insurance. She then gave me two Tylenol and told me to go back and wait in the lobby behind a plexiglass shield.
So I left and waited, and waited, and waited, for another hour, when another attendant came and took me to an x-ray room, where they took a chest x-ray that was never the topic of any discussion later. It was back to the lobby and wait.
Another hour passed and a hospital attendant came with with a wheel chair and took me to an exam room, where I waited for another hour before a paramedic came and took a blood and urine sample.
He also hooked me up to a machine that I believe was administering fluids to my body that was also sensitive to arm movements. Every time I moved my left arm, an alarm went off.
This became particularly annoying after he left the room, for no sooner did he leave that the alarm went off—and no one was around to turn it off!
After about 15 minutes of the constant beep, beep, beep, a hospital administrative person who went around gathering information on the patients poked her head in the door. I asked her if she could turn off the alarm. She said she would get a nurse. She never came back and no nurse, doctor, janitor, or anyone showed up to turn the alarm off.
That alarm continued for another hour and fifteen minutes before the paramedic and a doctor on-duty showed up to turn it off and give me their profound advice.
“Take two Tylenol every six hours, but alternative that with two Motrin every six hours to keep the fever down” was their prescription.
Other than that, go home, try to get some rest, and if suddenly I started to lose my breathe, then come back. They would see if they could do something then.
My temperature at that time was still 101.4.
After the doctor left the room I proceeded to ask the paramedic several questions that I will discuss in other post.
Needless to say, he sounded liked a Dr. Fauci propagandist, sputtering forth all the usual nonsense one has heard from Fauci, as Fauci repeatedly and consistently contradicts himself from interview to interview.
Anyway, the paramedic left me again, this time without the IV and alarm stuck in my arm. Again, I waited, and waited, and waited for another two hours, before he came back in and told me I was released.
Five hours had passed. It was a little past one o’clock in the morning, I was still quite feverish and miserable, and I was told to go home.
Wait until Stage 4, then maybe something could be done. Otherwise, go “wait it out.”
In my case, mainly because I am in pretty good health, the virus did not progress much further that it did.
Yes, I maintained the fever for the better part of another 10 days and the pneumonia was not severe enough to land me on a ventilator or respirator.
But, in many cases, the patients are not as fortunate.
What is pathetic is that the doctors, paramedics, and nurses at the ER have been so hogtied by propaganda from the Center for Disease Control, and probably the World Health Organization too, the former of which has long-since discredited itself because of its long history of contradicting itself over SARS-CoV2, that they cannot even treat patients to prevent them from getting to Stage 4 and hospitalization!
It is absolutely ridiculous!!
It is absolutely immoral!!
It is absolutely unethical!!
And it ought to be illegal!!
Anyway, after over three weeks, I have pretty much kicked the “delta variant’s” butt, with a few lingering after-effects that will heal with time.
Others have not been so blessed.
In my next post, I’ll share some of the absolutely outrageous responses to the questions I had for the paramedic.
It was enough to avoid going back to that ER a second time, a few days later, and visit to another ER to get better answers, even though the treatment was still stigmatized by pharmaceutical propaganda and greed.
