When the Hospitals Fail

I certainly did not think I would ever be blogging, but a person I admire and respect very much told me that I should share some of my thoughts concerning general preparedness,  and mental attitudes for making it through extraordinary times.  While there is a lot to explain as to how I have gotten to this point in my life, I’ll save that for later entries and just jump right in with the topic that has been predominantly on my mind.  That is, how will most of us who are accustomed to available medical treatment cope when it is not available?  This is not a discourse on how to treat illnesses, or a list of essential supplies to have on hand, but rather a discussion of my feelings and emotions on this subject.

Last April, I was nearly positive that my granddaughter had contracted pandemic H1N1 influenza.  She had several of the symptoms, and at that time, I was expecting a blitzkrieg of a pandemic, not the slow, steady conquest that has developed.  I rushed her to our usual medical clinic with a steely resolve to demand antivirals if she did indeed have influenza.  The medical personnel were all business, the clerk at the ckeck-in desk had an N-95 respirator on, as did the nurse that took her vitals.  Against my granddaughter’s objections, I mad her wear one of the surgical masks the clinic had provided.

The doctor’s diagnosis, after a rapid flu A test, (which is notably unreliable), was that she didn’t have influenza.  Her symptoms cleared up within 24 hours, so in this case the diagnosis was correct.  What really shook me to my core however, was the feeling I had as we waited for the doctor in the clinic.  I mentally tried to imagine what I would be doing, and how I would be feeling, if I couldn’t bring her for treatment and she really did have pandemic influenza.  In an all out pandemic, when the hospitals crash, bringing your loved one into such chaos is probably the last thing you would want to do, and even making the trip would pose a unique set of dangers.

Through the years I have mentally prepared myself to face a variety of challenges that a pandemic could pose.  I have made preparations for, and run mental exercises to cope with, no electricity, no public water or natural gas, and the absence of police protection and normal societal behavior.  While I have lots of information about, and supplies for, caring for injured and ill family members in the home, I’m not mentally steeled to do this.  I very clearly remember the cold knot in my stomach as I sat in the clinic that day, knowing how impotent I would feel if I were doing my best to nurse a family member at home.  I doubt I am the only person that would feel this way.

Since then, I have been “keeping score” on incidents that happen to family members and seeing how well I do in solving medical problems.  I would feel good if I could resolve the problem successfully at home, and make a resolve to collect more information or supplies if my intervention couldn’t prevent a visit to the clinic.  In mid July, I had an accident that took me on a roller coaster of emotions from proud self-sufficiency to utter despair at my helplessness to fix the situation.

While loading firewood into my pickup truck, my glove slipped off the end of a large log and it slammed down onto the inside of my left ankle.  I gritted my teeth and danced around, impatiently waiting for the initial sharp pain to subside.  Once I got the tears out of my eyes, I surveyed the damage and saw that I had what seemed to be a not-too-serious injury, it just hurt like the devil.  The pain subsided to a dull throb and I was able to continue working.  About 30 minutes later I looked at my ankle and was dismayed to see that it was swollen terribly and had a wide band of bruising around it.  I feared that it may be broken and decided to quit work and give it some attention.  I washed the wound carefully and elevated the foot with an ice bag to contain the swelling.  later that day I had trouble putting any weight on that foot and I needed a Percocet from my medical stash to make it through the night.

A trip to the clinic the next morning brought the surprising news that my ankle was not broken, just really banged up.  The doctor told me that in a few days the swelling would go down and my ankle would be looking a lot better.  He gave me a prescription for an antibiotic and told me not to get it filled unless the area around the wound became inflamed or looked infected.  Of course I had the prescription filled right away so I could add the antibiotic to my medical supplies.  The doctor was indeed right, and in a few days my ankle was still bruised, but looked much better and I had little pain.  Although I had gone to the doctor, I chalked this experience up as a “win” because I was able to initially doctor the wound properly and had I done nothing else, the ankle would have gotten better with time.

About ten days after the accident, the scab on the wound began to seep and I surmised that there was just some fluid still under the skin from the wound that needed to drain.  Then, one evening, I stood up from sitting on the couch and I felt a warm, wet sensation on my right arm.  I looked down and was amazed to see a large splash of watery blood on my arm.  I was looking around in consternation, trying to determine where this might have come from when I noticed the same fluid splashed across the coffee table and the floor.  I traced the source back to my ankle which was still oozing fluid.  I cleaned up the mess, dressed the wound and immediately began taking the prescribed antibiotic.

Four days later, the wound looked much worse and a large area of skin around it was inflamed and hot to the touch.  I made an appointment and visited the medical clinic.  The attending doctor took a sample from the wound site and was astounded as to the depth of the open wound.  Without further deliberation, I was admitted to the hospital and immediately began receiving powerful IV antibiotics.  The infection improved enough that I could be released after two days, but I have been on oral antibiotics for two weeks since then, and the problem still has not completely cleared up.

My initial declaration of a “win” situation was immediately dashed upon my admittance to the hospital.  Considering the stubbornness of this infection, had I not been able to receive competent medical care, I would have been put in the situation of sawing my lower leg off with a camp saw with nothing more than vodka for an anesthetic.  Once again, I have a cold knot in my stomach as I consider life without advanced medical care, something that most of us have come to take for granted.  In extraordinary circumstances,  our mental attitude is just as important as our physical preparations.  Obviously I’m not mentally ready for this challenge yet.  Since I have been working on all-hazards preparedness for the past 5 years, it stands to reason that there are a lot of people less mentally prepared than I am.  This will not be a good thing.

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