Let me tell you about the time Marianne and Matt were out of town and I went to the E.R... in Honduras...

Care was inadequate. I died. The end.

No. no. Fortunately, I am still alive and very well. Actually, I am drinking my morning cup of coffee. (Don't tell my mom, or sister- in-law, or dad, or doctor, or sister. Okay, just keep that tidbit to yourselves).

So let's rewind shall we. For those of you who don't know, I have a heart condition. Basically, what I have is unexplainable tachycardia… at all times. I can sit and watch Netflix, while my heart exerts the effort of a marathon. (Be Jealous). When I first found out I had this "condition,” I ended up with a resting heart rate of 180, an oh so very comfortable dosing(S) of Adenosine, a crash code cart outside my room, and a week long vacation to Lancaster General Hospital. Oh, how I love to reminisce my glory days.

SO, fast forward to last night around 7pm. We had just brought the babies in from tiring them the heck out, so that they would sleep like champions from their nightly walk and play session.  My symptoms started almost immediately there after. I hadn't eaten much dinner. I just wasn't super hungry. Which seemed strange, why was my stomach reacting so negatively if there was nothing in it?

On my 5th trip to the bathroom I started shaking, my mouth went super dry, my arrhythmias and tachycardia seemed to intensify, and I dropped to the floor (Basically, REFUSING to pass out).  While I was on the floor, I called on the name of Jesus, asking him to meet me here and telling (more like yelling) at the devil and reminding him that he has authority over me. After that I was able to stand up. Refusing to accept the possibility (I am just a little strong headed) that I would have to go to the E.R. IN HONDURAS. So, I jumped in the shower. Por qué? I couldn't tell you. Half of me was like, “Maybe the cold water will break the arrhythmias.” The other half of me was like, “Well, if I do have to go to the ER, at least I will be clean.” (In hindsight, I should have let myself be filthy. I think that it would have acted like a protective barrier, preventing me from contracting any illnesses that may have been lurking around the hospital).

Well, wouldn't you know it, the shower did NOTHING. Talk about a devastating surprise. I got dressed (heartbeat still pounding in my ear), and I began walking over to the main house. I grabbed Elsie out of the house, as not to alarm any of the children, and I explained to her my current predicament. Plan A: Have Elsie pray over me. Check.  Though, I could still feel the arrhythmias and tachycardia, I finally began to feel a peace, that, in the end, I would be okay. This feeling of peace, was the same peace I had felt the first time around; even though a crash code cart was waiting outside my room and my family was lined up against the E.R. wall with fear written all over their faces, I knew it was going to work out. God said it is okay, you will be okay. Just ride this out.

Time for the initiation of plan B. Wake up the reinforcements. AKA Rachel Roberts, Marianne, Dana, Mom/Dad, Stacy Stacy, and the McNerlins. There was talk of a possible adverse reaction to a virus that was circulating the house, but also the harsh reality that when dealing with the heart, it is better to be safe than sorry. (CRAP. I hate those with the voice of reason). After prayers were prayed over me and the car keys were retrieved, I was on my way…

SIDE NOTE: I may or may not have been taking my medicine just well kind of, a tad bit, inadvertently… okay, sporadically. VERY sporadically. Oops. I guess they were not kidding when they said to take that every day and at the same time. I will take that into consideration over the next coming years.

Okay, once those voices of reason suggested I go to the E.R., my inner and outer thoughts were kind of like a comedy routine. I have found that this is a coping mechanism. So, let me run you through my thoughts and experiences over the next few hours:

Welp, here goes nothing. First things first. Brush my teeth. Check.

Wait. I am wearing this ghetto sports bra. Oh man it is so terrible. It has been DESTORYED by the washing machine here. Maybe I should change it. On second thought, if these people are going to start cutting off my clothes, then this is the only bra that is disposable. Okay. Good plan.

You know, the ONLY reason I accept hospital visits in the States is because I will be greeted with a slew of medical professionals and HOSPITAL SOCKS, neither of which are likely to happen here. This is a cruel sick joke! NO hospital socks!

Oh crap, money. Crap. Crap. Crap. CRAP! This is going to cost me. I am a volunteer. I work for FREE. BUT, the hospital socks. That is almost, equally as sad. Uh, I can't hear myself think over this pounding in my ears. Shut UP heart! SHUT UP! Oh wait, don't shut up all the way. Thanks.

Stepping into the car and buckling my seatbelt, I hear my inner self singing "I'm on my way to the hospital, the hospital, the hospital, I am on my way to the hospital, so late in the evening.” Curse you, preschool brain!

(Passing two road blocks) This is my life, seriously my LIFE. Why can't these people just drive it or PARK IT!

Zig zagging in and out of traffic, I was happy to finally make it to the hospital. Oh, hey look! It is Stacy's car. She makes good timing!

My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I opened the door. My heart rate drowning out the fearful thoughts that were running through my brain. Thankfully, Jim was there to grab my arm and help me down as I began to become more aware of my irregular heart beats and unstable legs. (If this wasn't déjà vu I don't know what was.) I could see Stacy waiting just inside the doors. Oh hallelujah! I do believe she is my Honduras Dana.

(Here is one of my FAVORITE parts of the story.) I sat down, hands still shaking, heart beat thudding in my ears, watching as Rachel desperately rang the door bell of the E.R. (Yes, folks a DOOR BELL). After the 10ish ring, the door finally swung open. 

The nurse greeted us with a hello and a good evening.

Brain goes off in anger: What is even happening here? I can't. I have no words. It's cool dude, you answer that door in your good sweet time and don't mind me shaking, coming in and out of arrhythmia with mild tachycardia. No big deal, really. It can’t cost that much to ship a body home for burial right?!

I was instructed to sit down. So I sat. I was somewhat unaware of what the nurse was doing because I was desperately trying to understand the conversation (held 100% in Spanish) between Rachel, Stacy, and the "Doctor".

I guess during that time, the nurse took my blood pressure: it was high. (NO KIDDING) My temperature: low grade (Huh. Same as last time), and an IV was placed into my hand (Which they hooked up to nothing, at any time during my stay).

With the communication barrier and the lag in medical developments, it was difficult to communicate the severity of my condition. Please pause for a brief intermission of the progression of this story and take note of my rant.

***In the states if you come in to the hospital with a preexisting condition, that usually takes the first priority (ESPECIALLY, if 99.9% of your symptoms are pointing to complications with said condition). Not so much here. I felt like I was back in high school. You know when you go to the nurse’s station and everything seemed to always point back to whether or not you had eaten breakfast. Oh your tummy hurts? Did you eat breakfast? Oh you are having an asthma attack? Did you eat breakfast? Goodness me, you cut off your arm! Did you eat breakfast? *** end rant.

Finally, they agreed to give me an EKG. But, NOT before asking me to strip down. OH HECK NO. You argued with me for 30 min about my medical condition and NOW you want me to lay here naked as you put these leads all over me?! Are you going to buy me dinner first? Let's just say they are a little more tactful in the states when it comes to forcing a patient to strip down to their birthday suit.

Through the whole thing, I just kept laughing. Mostly, at the lack of medical development, the unprofessionalism, my battered sports bra, really just the whole situation. This was happening. This is my life.

After, the EKG. He, what I would refer to as the REAL doctor, came in and said my results were “fine.” He told me how white I was, and that he couldn’t tell if I was pale. (So I told him to check my capillary reflexes.) We spoke about my condition (He argued that everything I was experiencing and had experienced in the states was impossible.) I laughed and said, oh trust me, it happened. Do you know of JOHNS HOPKINS? Oh, you do. Okay, well they have extensive medical documentations of my medical anomalies, so forgive me if your opinions hold little authority. 

Even though, I was "ok" they wanted to give me meds. I threw the red flag, penalty (I don't trust you) and blew the whistle TIME OUT (time to phone a friend).  If I have learned ANYTHING in Honduras, it is that you question every SINGLE med that they are prescribing and ask WHY and WHAT it is for. So, I called my personal medical team who was waiting by the phone in PA--Dana.

Collectively, we decided that the meds were okay and that we would like to have my EKG results to send to my doctors in the States. At THIS point, the Honduran doctor decided to let us know that there were some irregularities in my electrical waves. Oh, so you didn't feel the need to mention this before now? Too busy testing my blood for infections and iron deficiencies? Great, great. I feel much more relaxed now.

(Stacy, I hope you are reading this and are relaxed. Since, according to him, I was the only one who was tranquilla. Which is interesting, since he insisted on giving me a xanax).

Well, after deciding there is nothing more that they could do for me here, all I was waiting on was my “fever” to drop and my final EKG to be administered. Then I was home free!! An hour later, they hooked me up, results were more conclusive, and I was cleared for discharge. YAY! As the “doctor” took off the leads he looked at the red marks left on my exposed body and said, “look boyfriend kisses.” Reminding myself that I am a representation of God and this ministry all I could let out was a laugh and a disapproving look. This guy puts the PRO in Professionalism.

Any who, after my heart rate dropped to 105. I was ready to blow that popsicle stand. Hasta Nunca, E.R!

(P.S. about my fever. The Doctor told Rachel there was no explanation for my fever. He said I had to have psychological issues. Well, duh. You are driving me crazy. This place could make a nun swear.)