I was in the emergency room yesterday, and saw the most interesting example of the difference between doctors and nurses.

Me being in the emergency room was not a big deal. I just became very, very short of breath at work, and my co-workers took it upon themselves to drive me to the nearby hospital. It turns out that I have some kind of lung infection, maybe pneumonia again. I've had pneumonia before, but if I have it again it's not nearly as bad as the last time. Actually, this leads into another story about the difference between doctors and nurses. So there are two.

If these digressions seem worse than normal, it may be lack of oxygen to the brain. Or a side effect of all the different medication I've taken. But I can breathe again, so I'm happy.....

Anyway, the story I started out trying to tell you was this one: While my stalwart co-worker, Bee, in fact, was sitting with me in the little cubicle after I had passed my EKG and was waiting to be seen by the emergency room Dr., she was entertaining me by peering out the curtain and giving me slightly snarky descriptions of what else was going on. Thus she was telling me about about the general movings around of a guy she called "Marcus-the-Black-Guy-Welby" and when he came into view I could see why she was describing him this way. He wore a very crisp white coat and had his stethoscope around his neck, a shirt and tie, close cropped hair, eyeglasses and was in every respect the image of a respectable physician who was African American. (We were also pretending to be nervous of my nurse, who was male and was, for some reason wearing all black scrubs. We decided that he had Angel-of-Death potential, especially since he was also so clean cut and happened to possess very cold blue eyes. Though he was in no way unprofessional. Really, Bee was tired, and I didn't feel well, and you have to forgive us for entertaining ourselves, a little, at other peoples' expense, even though it wasn't very Christian)

Anyway, after awhile The Hub found his way to the hospital and Bee went home. Dr. Marcus TBG Welby came up to dispose of some items in the bio-hazard container, which was sitting right next to the container for dirty laundry. Every time anyone would flip up the lid of the bio-hazard container, it would smack into the overhanging lid of the laundry container, and this made a hell of a racket. The racket was not distressing to me, though by this time the ER doctor who had seen me had told everybody "whatever else is going on with her, that woman is in desperate need of some sleep" and had given me some kind of in-the-class-of Valium thing to take ( and I was certainly desperate for something, because I took it without even asking too many questions. Though the Angel-of-Death, by that time, had gone off shift and been replaced by another male nurse, who was actually somewhat spookier,but all dressed in blue, so therefore, more innocuous). But it was distressing to the poor lady in the bed next to me, who thought that it was 1983 and told everybody, loudly and clearly, that whole reason why she had come to America in the first place was so she could smoke. Tobacco, I presume, though it was really hard to tell.

Anyway, when Dr. Marcus TBG Welby rattled the laundry lid the first time, he looked around and apologized to us in a gentle voice, which I thought was really quite classy, though in keeping with his general demeanor. And he was very careful, every time he came over, after that, to lift the lid slowly, so it didn't bang the laundry lid.

Presently, two nurses came by to assist the lady next to me getting into some clean clothes so she could be admitted. This took some time, and was, from what I could hear through the curtain, a sharp example of why it's difficult to get people to chose nursing as a profession. ("I'll get some air freshener in just a minute" the nurse from Jamaica said to me apologetically from around the curtain.) Anyway, she naturally had some things that went in the bio-hazard and some things that went in the laundry.

So she came up, looked at the situation, opened the lid to the bio-hazard bin, and kicked the laundry bin about two inches to right, thus preventing the lids from banging together. Solved that problem

If I had enough breath, I'd have laughed heartily. As it was, it simply cheered me up a good bit.

I suppose the other difference between doctors and nurses is this one: When I went through triage, I explained my symptoms, the dry hacking cough, the chest pain, the shortness of breath, etc and gave my complete medical history. "That sounds like pneumonia, or at least like some kind of lung infection" the triage nurse said confidently. "They'll get a chest x-ray and get you all sorted out. It's not your heart. Your EKG looks great."

The ER doctor, who I really want to honestly say, was a kind, compassionate person and as competent as any other doctor I've ever met, asked about my symptoms and sent me for a chest x-ray. She also asked my medical history, and, as soon as the word "depression" popped out of my mouth, she stayed on that for a good ten minutes. I've been through this before. So I was not terribly surprised when, in spite of my x-ray having "some kind of spot on it", she was sure that I had had an anxiety attack, needed to have my severe insomnia solved ( which she's right about) but that my lungs were clear and follow-up-with-your-doctor at home.

"I'm sorry" said my regular doctors associate this morning as he listened to my lungs. He, like my regular doctor is a gentle soft spoken man who doesn't seem to go in for quick decisions, "Did you say that the emergency room doctor said she thought your lungs were clear?"

"Yes, she did. But I think she might have already decided my lungs weren't the problem by that time"

"Ah, yes. ER medicine, it's very tough"

"I agree. She may have been right, really, I had taken enough asthma medication by the time she saw me to sink the Bismark" I said.

"Mmm. Well, you really do have quite a rattle, so we want to get another x-ray right away. You certainly have got an infection in there, but I can give you an antibiotic that will take care of it even if it does turn out to be pneumonia. I don't want you to be unduly concerned, but pneumonia wouldn't surprise me. I want you to come back in tomorrow."

It wouldn't surprise the triage nurse either. Empowering people as nurse practitioners, in my opinion, would save a lot of time and money.

But what do I know? I'm just a patient.