The long weekend ended with a trip to the Rockyview Hospital when my blood pressure kept rising and the pain in my chest made it impossible to breathe. An overnight calamity of tests, I was sent home for bedrest waiting for a cardiologist to call for more tests. Any feeling of whoa-is-me was silenced when I began listening to the stories of the other patients around me. It brought people watching to a whole new level.

A woman had brought her brother in, just before us. I overheard her telling the nurse that he was suicidal and she was afraid, not knowing what to do.

A couple next to us, sat quietly and at one point, he reached over to pat his wife’s hand and whispered to her, “how many times do you need to go through this with me?” She smiled and replied, “we just need you to get well.”

A mother sat across from us with her young daughter. I overheard her on the phone, “I am in the emergency. Every time she pees, she says it feels like sharp prickles.” Whatever was the diagnosis, the little girl came out eating a popsicle and the mother was in tears.

An elderly man is told that he has an ulcerated bowel that requires immediate surgery but not without complications.  I hear the nurse ask the wife if she understands what DNR means and if his last wishes are in order.

Grief is palatable in the emergency ward of a hospital. You are not there by choice. It is not a quick fix either. The long waiting increases the agony. As a human sponge of other’s energy, I could feel my blood pressure continue to rise, my heartbeat pounding out of my chest. When the nurse called my name to insert an IV into my arm, he said, “you appear anxious.” I just stared at him. What did he mean by that? Of course I was anxious. My blood pressure is 217/109. How did I get here? It was a quiet, pleasant day. I was resting. I worked on a puzzle for God’s sake, not a marathon.

As we continued to sit waiting for the next test, I overheard a conversation that hit me hardest. It was a teenager whose friends had brought him in. We wondered what his reason might be; his hand was covered in blood like he had punched something.  He was wrapped in a blanket and appeared in shock. I heard his friend call the mother telling her what happened. It wasn’t a bar fight or a prank gone wrong. The three were hiking and the trail ended with a waterfall cascading down twenty feet to the ground below. He had slipped and fell over the falls, to the bottom and lay unconscious in the water below. His friends climbed down to his rescue but couldn’t carry him. So, one stayed with him, the other ran to find cell reception and call for help.  It took the helicopter six hours to find them and pull them to safety.

As the boys sat there, the one who had rescued his friend, said to him, “hospitals get me, but I guess I should get used to them.  I will be seeing them a lot from now on.” I thought to myself I wonder if he is planning on a medical career of some kind to state that.  And then his friend gave him a friendly nudge with his shoulder and said, “hey man, it’s dialysis. You’ll get through.”

The waiting room in ER fosters a weird reminder of how delicate life is, how fast it can change and how important good health is. Grief sits in the emergency room, quietly waiting to rise or to leave.

As the doctor summarized my test results with me, he said, “I am wondering about your SLE” Exhausted, and trying to focus, I asked, “SLE?”  “Your lupus”, he answered. He continued, “your heart may be effected by that so the cardiology tests we have referred for you will confirm it is just that.” I thanked the good doctor and went to the bathroom to change out of my hospital gown. I looked in the mirror.  My lupus? You mean this quiet ‘condition’ I have had for years that has never caused me grief.  My heart is vulnerable because of lupus?

I have struggled with poor health all my life. I have fibromyalgia, never slowed me down. I have conquered cancer. Lupus is different. I was told that lupus blows up your heart. There is no cure, it is only manageable. How do I manage living with a broken heart. Literally, a broken heart. When I walked out the emergency doors in the early morning, nothing had changed but everything had changed. My vision of who I am, how strong I am does not align with the reality of my condition. Grief comes in many forms. With my hospital visit, a new form of grief rose and followed me home.