By Irene Conlan -

I dutifully stood in line at the cardiology center waiting to have an echocardiogram and a nuclear stress test. A recent checkup with my nurse practitioner indicated an abnormal ECG and they wanted to see just what is going on with my heart.  They checked me in and, after filling out the always-required forms,  I sat amidst the other patients like someone waiting for a train. After about twenty minutes my name was called by a woman in scrubs who remained nameless and I was taken to a room where I was seated in the phlebotomist’s chair.  Another nameless woman was there as well doing paper work at the desk. The woman escorting me put a needle in my arm and injected something they told me made me radioactive. When finished I was taken to a smaller waiting room. I was shown where the bathroom was and told to drink water – I was not told why I needed to drink water. They left me with the messge that someone would call me soon for the test.

About a half an hour passed before a nice looking, although unidentified man, called my name and asked me to follow him. Without telling me his position or function he had me sit in a chair,  instructed me to put my arms up over my head and informed me that a machine would be moving over me. When we got the process started he informed me that it would take about 20 minutes in  this position. I wished I had know that when they told me to put my arms over my head because I certainly would have tried to assume a more comfortable position.  When we finished, two women, seemed to miraculously appear and told me I had done a “perfect” job. All I had done was lie there with my arms over my head. They led me back to the waiting room where I was again instructed to sit until someone called me. Another 30 minutes or so went by.

My name was called by a new unidentified man – no  name and no position – who took me to a room with a bed (a comfortable one, I might add). After a few minutes lying on that comfortable bed two nameless and positionless women came in. One went to the machines and one had a syringe in her hand. She told me she would be injecting some medicine that would stress my heart. I asked a couple of questions but she didn’t puase in her injecting to answer my fear that they might stress my heart more than it could handle. By the time I got the question asked she announced, “I’m finished injecting that solution and am now injecting saline. The test is finished.” I asked what they saw. The one at the machine replied I had some “ischemic” areas in my heart muscle (restricted blood flow) and the two had a conversation about my most likely needing a stent. It was as if I were not present in the room. They told me they would bring me something with caffeine to relieve the stress – caffeine was the antidote to whatever they had injected. I developed a splitting frontal headache and was told the caffeine would relieve it. It didn’t. The nice young may who brought me  to the room brought me a Pepsi and by the time I finished it, the headache was almost gone.The stress test was over.

I was returned to the waiting room and told to wait. Twenty minutes later I was escorted back to the first  room with the machine that went over my body to check my heart after the stress. This time lying there with my arms over my head was a briefer experience and I was soon returned to the waiting room and told to wait until they called my name. By this time the waiting room was empty and I waited alone with only the TV which was set on CNN reiterating the same political story it was running when I arrived.

A very nice man in scrubs, again unnamed and unidentified as to function or position,  came for me, and escorted me to a small room with big machines. He  very skillfully did the exam. Throughout the exam he received messages on his “walkie-talkie” about other patients who were put on the schedule and and he exchanged  little “staff jokes with the person on the other end.  Finished,  he walked with me to the place I check out which happened to be the office of the cardiologist.

As I stood at the counter in the cardiologist’s office, the Doctor entered,  talked to his secretary for some time as if I were not there and then went into his own office without ever acknowledging my presence except for the slight smile he gave me when he arrived there.

The secretary introduced herself to me and set me up for an appointment two weeks into the future to get the test results.  FINALLY, after a half day of one test after another, a person gave me her name and told me what she was supposed to do. It was a secretary who finally treated me like a human being.

I could have made a fuss about it and demanded information. I have a Masters degree in nursing and find  it is much more interesting to act as an observer. The only frightening time was with the stress test and I had every assurance that they knew what they were doing even if I didn’t know who they were. The personnel were professional and competent. They were friendly. But they omitted the one thing that is critically important to someone not medically oriented – their name and their function.

I tried to experience it through the eyes of someone who knows nothing about the routines, procedures and personnel in a busy medical setting. I felt like a detainee  in a prison camp who was herded from place to place like an animal rather than a human being.

My question is: How much time does it take to say, “Hello, Mrs. Conlan. I’m Jane Doe. I’m the doctor (nurse, nurse practitioner, whatever) who will inject the substance  that will cause stress and this is Dr. Mary Jones who works with the machines that do the calibration. This is what you can expect . . . do you have any questions?” How hard is that?

Let’s try that again. “Hello my name is ___________ and I will be doing _____________. Do you have any questions?”  What an incredible difference that would have made.

Medical profession, wake up and smell the coffee. Your patients are human beings who deserve respect and compassion, information and understanding of what is about to happen to them. Your world of big machines, ultra technical information and medical jargon can be frightening even to professionals. Remember the Golden Rule which paraphrased says, “Treat your patients as you would like to be treated.”