“Time to go Hero…” One of the four security guards says as they enter the medical examination room where I’ve been lying on a medical examination bed for the last five hours. The morphine injection I received with an IV to hydrate me wore off about an hour before they showed up. Any movement from the position I’m sitting in on the medical examination bed results in severe waves of pain across my back and abdomen. My condition has deteriorated and I now have a severe headache from being on a juice and gram cracker diet for the last five days.
“What do you know about being a hero?” I ask in a soft hoarse pain filled voice as tears run down my cheeks as another unendurable wave of pain radiates from my abdomen and back as I lift my arm to remove the sheet from my eyes so I’m not staring at the bright florescent lights above me.
“Get a sheriff’s deputy.” I hear the nurse standing outside the room say in a loud voice.
“Look… If you don’t get up and get dressed we’ll put you naked in the wheelchair and leave you in the lobby.” Another one of the security guards says with a smirk on his face as he looks at the other security guard as they shuffle around the bed in the examination room attempting to intimidate and bully me into being afraid of them.
“Help me sit up.” I ask the closest security guard extending my hand to him. Staying as far away from me as possible like I’m going to attack him or give him some kind of disease he extends his hand for me to take.
I take his hand and pull on it stopping as he suddenly lets go of my hand as I get one leg over the edge of the medical examination bed. The unexpected release of my hand brings on a massive wave of pain as I lose my balance. I can’t stop myself from letting out a gasp of agony as my left hand reflexively grasp the edge of the bed to keep me from falling to the floor.
My vision begins to narrow so I begin to take slow controlled breathe of air to keep from passing out as I lower myself into the prone position I was in on the bed. Another stupid test to see if I’m faking it I think to myself as I look up and glare at them with tears rolling down my cheeks. Everyone in the room remains silent as they realize from the way my body shakes uncontrollably what they’re doing to me is wrong as I sit up and slump forward to put my head between my legs to help me stay conscious.
“He’s crying, I’m getting the sheriff.” The nurse states in a disgusted voice in the hallway as I wonder why they are doing this me instead of admitting me to the hospital so they can do further test to determine what type of surgery I need to have to stop all the pain I’m experiencing.
“Get dressed. You’ve got to go. They need this room for someone else.” The leader of the security detail says to me seeing I’m attempting to comply with their demands as my shaking fingers fumble to get the hospital gown untangled from the thin blankets that were keeping me warm.
“Can you give me hand getting dressed?” I ask the closest guard quietly in my horse voice clamping down on my anger as I attempt to comply with the command to get dressed.
“No, you’ll have to get yourself dressed. We’ll go stand outside and wait. You’ve got ten minutes. If you’re not dressed in ten minutes we’ll put you naked in a wheelchair and take you to the lobby.” The leader says without any compassion in his eyes as I look at him.
It was obvious to me he meant it and for a moment I entertained the idea of calling him out on his threat and turning the whole situation into a Rosa Park type protest. Looking back as I write this I doubt anyone would have stopped to ask me if I needed help in the lobby since the lobby of an emergency medical facility is filled with people who need help with whatever problem brought them there. I was in too much pain and I’m tired of fighting for justice in a country where no one listens and no one cares about anything unless it impacts them directly.
It’s like the internet blogs where everyone is wrapped up in getting their message out to get their ego massage for the day. There was a time when people cared and looked out for each other but those days are gone as people twitter and text to disconnect and limit the reality they experience. The protest idea was a nice thought but given the pain I was in all I wanted was to get away from these sadistic assholes that weren’t going to lift a finger to help me to stop the pain.
“Ok…” I mumble quietly in a resigned defeated voice and everyone leaves the room pulling the drape across the doorway but leaving the sliding door to the hallway open.
“Hero’s…? The only hero’s I know are dead.” I think to myself as I untangle myself from the hospital gown and the sheet stopping only when the pain threatens to make me pass out.
As I stop to rest my mind returns to the “Time to go Hero” remark the security guard used when they entered the room. As I think about his remark it reminds me of the lyric from the song, A Month of Sundays, by Don Henley where he sings “My grandson he comes home from college and says we get the government we deserve. Son in law shakes his head and says that little punk he never had to serve.”
Thinking about that line from the song puts my situation into context and the Hero remark I realized pushed my hot button about how veteran’s who’ve served honorably get so little respect for attempting to ensure the next generation will never have to fight a war. The remark also told me someone like the great powerful Oz working behind the curtain told these security people who I am. The price I’m paying by refusing to let anyone interfere with my duty to a country that’s disowned me.
Unlike these people I have a greater responsibility and hold myself to the higher standard. They were baiting me to get me to do something stupid like swear at them so it would look good on the video surveillance camera. I don’t think they expected me pick up on the baiting ploy instantly and respond with a reasonable question. As I get untangled from the gown and sheet I know if I force them to escort me to the lobby naked once we reach the lobby I’ll be arrested for indecent exposure in front of minor if there is one underage kid in the lobby.
By the time the security guards open the drape I’ve managed to get my pants on without passing out and I’m sitting upright with both my legs hanging over the edge of the medical examination bed.
“Can someone help me put my shirt on?” I ask as the guards crowd into the small room again with the serious we’re looking forward to fucking you look on their faces. This time there’s a Milwaukee County Sheriff’s Deputy standing in the hallway behind them.
“No.” The leader of the security guards says as the Sheriff’s Deputy looks at me and I know this is a set up to take me down if I show any resistance. The idea of spending the rest of the weekend locked up in a cell in my condition brings me to my senses as I return on trying to get my left arm into the sleeve of my shirt. By the stone cold look on all the Deputies face I’m sure he and his buddies at the holding facility would ensure I’d die of “Natural Causes” in their custody. Dead men tell no tales I believe is how the axiom is put.
I continue to get dressed stopping only to concentrate on controlling my breathing to stay conscious. While I finish getting dressed they remain silent glaring at me like wolves waiting to take down a wounded animal. They’d love to see me make a mistake then they’d be able to justify the excessive use of force they’d claim was necessary to subdue me. This is Milwaukee the land of pistol packing hard ass cops who know they can get away with killing anyone and receive only a slap on their hand.
Once I’m dressed I have to negotiate getting into the wheelchair. The only thing that keeps me from passing out from the pain is my anger and determination not to give them any reason to arrest me for being in pain, old, sick and tired. They remain silent as I wipe the tears from my eyes after I’m in the wheelchair and they put the rest of my belonging in my lap.
“Do you have a phone so I can call someone to pick me up?” I ask in my parched hoarse voice as I’m wheeled down the hallway.
“There’s a phone in the lobby” The security guard says as we go through the double doors pointing to the wall. My wheelchair comes to a stop about ten feet from the location of the phone and without another word the security people leave.
For an unknown amount of time I stare at the wall as the tears from my crying dry on my face. The people waiting to be seen by the intake nurses watch me with a reserved curiosity. My hands and body shake as I slowly move the wheelchair closer to the phone stopping only when I begin to lose my peripheral vision.
This is a true story of how I was treated at Froedort Memorial Hospital in Milwaukee, Wisconsin on Saturday the twenty second of June.
The reason I’m posting this story on Dkos is everyone needs to understand this is the type of health care many legislator’s on both sides of the aisle consider an acceptable way of dealing with indigent seniors with potentially life threatening health problems. Emergency rooms exist to stabilize you. Stabilizing a patient is all they do. They do not diagnose or do anything to resolve the underlying causes of the health problems you have. In Wisconsin by law a physician can only prescribe three days of pain medication and advise you to see a primary care physician. If you don’t have the cash to pay the upfront fee you’re screwed because it’s a Catch 22 situation.
My situation places me at the bottom of the health care barrel and as far as the government is concern I’m a expendable toxic waste product that they wish would die and go away before someone in media machine takes me seriously and begins to believes me when I say they legally forced me to become the Sovereign Ruler of the Kingdom of Infinia’ so everyone could continue to celebrate the fourth of July as independence day. Have a safe happy Fourth of July and don’t do anything stupid like get sick and wind up in an emergency room where my story could easily become your story if you ask the physicians to heal you.