My trip to the hospital turns into a column idea

This Friday we have a column due, and I’ve decided to write about the hospital bill I received last Thursday at FirstHealth Moore Regional Hospital in Pinehurst, N.C. 

I was going a little crazy out on my granddaddy’s farm while 4-wheeling with my 12-year-old cousin Abby. Earlier in the morning, we were going up a hill and I was in the wrong gear, and when I went to shift, the bike started sliding backwards. I lost control of the steering and we ended up tipping over. Luckily Abby had a cell phone and we called her dad to come help tip the bike back over. We kept high-fiving one another, surprised as hell that we neither of us were hurt.

So 30 minutes later after the bike was back on four wheels, we got back on and headed back to the barn like Abby had requested. Unfortunately, I had forgotten that there was a huge decline ahead where we had to cross the creek. Of course I was going way too fast, I had figured this would be my last 4-wheel ride for at least a year so I wanted to make the best of it, and the decline hit us sooner than I had expected. I knew we were about to tip over again, so I hopped over the trail and headed towards the woods. I forgot you have to pull both hand breaks for the bike to stop. The creek was fast approaching. I aimed for a tree to stop us, or else we would have fallen three feet down into the water. We stopped. Abby slammed into the back of me, most of her weight focused on my left leg. My knee hit the side of the bike, forcing my kneecap to slide 2 inches out of its socket.

It was literally the most excruciating pain I have ever felt, more so when Kourtney ran over my foot with her Jeep or when I backed up into a barbecue pit at our community pool when I was four. I started sweating profusely. I was instantly nauseous. I felt like I was going to faint. The position I was in was very uncomfortable: I was straddling the bike and had to put all of my weight on the right side of my body. I became so weak that I bent over and smashed my face against the ignition key, my left arm clutching my dislocated kneecap and my right wrapped around the handle bars, trying to get comfortable. 

Thankfully, Abby hopped right off the back and ran up the trail towards my Uncle Joe, who decided to follow us back to the barn. I screamed “Pop it back in! Pop it back in!” and he said he didn’t want to do anything irrational.

He sped off to the barn to get my granddaddy and his farm hand, Johnny, who had an old truck that was already so beat up that it could go anywhere on his farm. Chet, my 10-year-old cousin, and Abby stayed behind. I was so proud of them. Chet told me to keep breathing. Abby was so scared she couldn’t say anything. I told them I was so sorry, and Chet kept telling me to stop talking and just breathe. I told them to slap me across the face if I passed out and to not get upset if I vomited. Abby kindly pulled the back of my shirt down so my back wasn’t exposed. 

Thank god I decided to wear a neon pink t-shirt I bought in Clearwater Beach, Fla. that day. You could spot us from nearly half a mile away. 

My granddaddy and Johnny arrived 20 minutes later. Abby ran down the path and soaked her sweatshirt in the creek. Uncle Joe dripped the water on the back of my neck to keep me cool. I couldn’t stop shaking. The cousins knew my new favorite song was “See You Again” by Miley Cyrus, and Uncle Joe played it on his iPhone to calm me down. The emergency personnel told my granddaddy on the phone to not move me. So we waited at least 40 minutes for the ambulance to arrive. I was told to scream out the pain as I was leaned back on the 4-wheeler, put into a cardboard splint and slid onto the backboard. I laughed at myself at least twice— I couldn’t control the noises that were coming out of my mouth. They were a mix of humming sounds and awkward groans that were released from my lungs every few seconds on queue.

I tried to make the situation as light as possible: I lifted my arms in the air while they strapped me onto the backboard and said, “It’s like I’m on a roller coaster.”

As the paramedics lifted me off the 4-wheeler, I apologized for how heavy I was. They laughed and said it was their job. They pushed my left leg onto the backboard, causing it to straighten without my help. My kneecap popped right back into the socket.

“Did it pop back in?” I asked, lifting my head up.

“Well, it sure did. Don’t tell anyone that happened! That wasn’t supposed to happen!” the head paramedic said.

The ambulance couldn’t make it on the uneven paths of the farm, so I was put into the back of Johnny’s truck. Resting on old tires and in between fishing poles, Johnny drove about five miles per hour through the backwoods of the farm. We arrived at the gate, where I was told later that at least 3 ambulances and a fire truck were waiting. I caused quite the stir in Candor, N.C. that morning.

The ambulance ride to the hospital was for some reason the scariest part. I finally let myself cry as the paramedic stuck EKG stickers to my arms and asked for my name and Social Security number. She curled oxygen tubes behind my ears and told me to breathe through my nose and out my mouth. It took several tries to stick the needle into my wrist for morphine, but once she got it in, I instantly felt a huge wave of relaxation rush throughout my entire body. Within seconds I had virtually no pain.

Once I got to the hospital, they wheeled me into a private room, asked me a bunch of questions about the accident, took some x-rays, and ultimately told me I would be a okay in a couple of weeks. Everyone kept repeating how lucky I was, and I’d have to say I definitely agree.

I have to wear a knee stabilizer for a few weeks that keeps my left leg completely straight. It’s actually quite comfortable, until I have to walk or sit down. I’m definitely feeling the strain on my right hip from my new and very awkward stride.

While I was waiting for my granddaddy to pull his Suburban over to the Emergency Care entrance, I looked over the hospital bill that I had just paid… actually I had used my mother’s credit card so she technically paid. The brace strapped to my leg was $140, the x-rays roughly $300 and each tablet of Tylenol they gave me were ten cents.

Health care coverage is something very scary to me. That was the first time I have ever dealt with that kind of payment. The woman’s bill in front of me was over $1,000 and she did not have health insurance. She smirked and almost laughed when they told her the amount, almost if not being able to pay such bills is a normal occurrence. I felt awful for the woman. There I was, 20 years old and under the financial umbrella of my parents, complaining about my bill to a random security guard at the exit of the hospital. And I only had a co-pay of $90. I pointed to my leg and sarcastically asked “Guess how much this cost?” and he replied, “I don’t even want to know.”

He had worked security for some 30 years at the same hospital, and everyday he hears some sort of comment about the general and rising costs of medical care. He had no conclusions or resolutions, just the fact that the price of fixing our bodies puzzles him.

My plan is to do a little bit of investigating and research to cover the issue of health care and how to find reasonable health insurance. I’ll let you know how that goes in my next post!