by Emma Riley Sutton

Created on: April 09, 2008   Last Updated: June 25, 2008

It was the worst medical experience of my life. I was taken the emergency room by my family because they felt it was truly an emergency. While there, I was forgotten by the staff. I was threatened by the staff. And, yes, I was misdiagnosed.

My parents, normally calm, rushed me to the emergency room when, suddenly, I was in horrible pain and unable to walk. I moaned as my father carried me to the triage station in the local hospital's emergency room. Thankfully, no one was ahead of me and I was taken back to an exam room immediately.

I explained to the doctor and the two nurses hovering around me what had happened. Our family had been moving and I suddenly was not able to walk. I had an awful, stinging pain in my lower abdomen. I could barely get the words out because of the terrible pain I was in. My parents signed all the necessary paperwork, seeing I was not 18 yet, and answered the questions I could not or was unable to answer. The doctor left the room, explaining he would be back after my blood work came back from the lab.

The nurses quickly started an I.V. and drew the necessary blood. Off they went and we waited. We continued to wait. We waited and we waited and we waited. Tears streamed down my face as my mother went looking for someone to help me. No one was available. We continued to wait.

Finally, my mother went to another floor of the hospital and grabbed a nurse. Literally, she grabbed a nurse and brought her to me. The nurse took one look at me and went directly to the phone and paged a nurse from the emergency room. The original nurse returned. Despite my mother's protests, everyone was made to leave the room - leaving me and the nurse alone.

"Honey, are you pregnant?" She asked softly, leaning over me.

"No, I'm not pregnant," I answered.

"Are you sure? We won't tell your parents if you are."

"I'm sure I'm not pregnant. It would be impossible." Believe me, I knew it was impossible. There was no way I could be pregnant.

"Honey, you are pregnant. You might be having a miscarriage and we need to treat you. No one here will tell your parents."

"I'm not pregnant," I insisted again. "I know that I am not pregnant."

The nurse sat on the edge of the bed next to me. "You need to start being honest with me," she explained. "There are special homes for girls like you. Places away from your parents so you don't have to be afraid."

"I'm not pregnant." I couldn't believe she didn't trust me.

"Sometimes even good girls get pregnant. Boys can be very persuasive. It is okay."

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