I know that ER staff aren't fond of attempted suicides. I know that the last thing an ER doc wants to see is some fickle girl who decided too late she didn't want to die (or, uh, a not-so-fickle but really stupid girl who posted her suicide note to Facebook when her friends were online). I don't blame anyone for this!
But when I'm a patient in the ER, I am a patient, even if only because of my own poor choices.
So not treating me is a pretty shitty move.
The only emergency medical treatment I was given beyond IV fluids happened in the ambulance, where an IV was started and I was given half a bottle of activated charcoal. It didn't mix well, and the plan was to give me the rest in the ER where there was water to mix it with instead of trying to mix it with, say, saline.
Once in the ER, I... sat in a bed for a while, being miserable. Aside from getting the aforementioned IV fluids, I didn't get anything but a vomit bag and some tissues- not even the usual needle to bleed into and cup to pee in. No one ever gave me that other half a bottle of charcoal.
I ended up admitted to the ICU with a fever, some scary muscle twitching, and a heart rate that spiked near 200 every time I sat up. For several days I was too weak and shaky to even go to the bathroom unsupported. I feel that I would not have been as severely ill if I had been given some - any - treatment in the ER.
I wasn't expecting miracles, but I got to the ER well within the first hour after taking the pills (which were delayed-release), and I'm certain that I could have at the very least been given a full dose of charcoal, if not treated to the wonderful experience of having my stomach forcibly emptied. But no. Nothing.
It was my decision to take the pills - but it was also ultimately my decision to seek medical attention in a timely manner, and in doing so I kind of expected not to end up so severely ill. Am I wrong in thinking that?
TL;DR: Went to ER, was given no treatment whatsoever, ended up in hospital for almost a week. Same hospital is also responsible for delaying treatment after my mom's stroke, severely hampering her recovery, and trying to convince my dad to go home and sleep off his stomach bug when he actually had kidney stones. Fun times.
Oh, and I wasn't allowed to wash my hair the entire time I was in the hospital, because it would have been "inconsiderate" of me to soil the towels like that (my hair is dyed two distinctly unnatural colors, but I'm lazy with touch-ups, and it's been well out of the serious bleeding stage for a while). Which really made me feel wonderful, let me tell you. :|
ETA: I almost forgot this little tidbit! Once I was in the ICU, I was interviewed by some person or another - I'm not really sure who he was, frankly, but it was the usual list of questions about my mental state and who the president was before Obama and could I remember the words "apple, bell, tree".
Until the guy told me that I "just didn't look" like someone with Asperger Syndrome (which I told him was contributing to the problem, since constant sensory overload is one of the many things I wanted to just go away), and that all my problems stemmed from the fact that I had been neglected as a child and was thus trapped as my twelve-year-old self.
It's actually kind of funny, in a "where the hell do they hire these people" kind of way!