When No One Answers Your SOS Call

Medical alert device leaves me on my own

You won't believe this. I swear I didn't plan it to make a good story.

Early this morning I took a hot bath to ease my hip pain. When I went to get out, pushing with one hand on each side–a move I do all the time–my left hand slipped and I crashed, banging my ribs hard against the tub. I immediately knew I was injured. Broken ribs at least.

My new medical alert watch was charging on the sink, out of reach. Luckily, I was able to get out very carefully, dry myself, and get dressed. I knew I needed to go to the hospital.

I probably could have driven myself, but I was going to follow my own advice and activate my new medical alert watch, which arrived on Wednesday. I didn’t need an ambulance, but I would accept a ride. I had just told all four of my contacts that they might be getting a call, but probably not anytime soon.

I sat on my sofa, ready to go to the hospital, and pushed the SOS button. On the screen, a white circle went round and round as I waited anxiously for a voice to come on and ask what was wrong. The screen went blank. No voice. No response. I pushed it twice more. Nothing.

I called my contacts the old-fashioned way, on my phone. It was around 7:30 a.m. Two didn’t answer. A sleepy-sounding Kathy picked up. God bless her. She drove me to the hospital through a warm August rain.

The ER was quiet, but it still took hours for triage, X-rays and finally seeing a young physician’s assistant named Grace. The waiting room filled up with characters: A guy on drugs, a young woman with a blood clot in her leg, a very old-looking couple holding on to each other, a man very anxious about his sick daughter, and a middle-aged woman shuffling with one foot on top of a slipper. She had spilled boiling water on it while making tea.

The Holy Day Mass where I was supposed to be playing piano came and went. For ages, I sat in the examining room watching feet go by under the curtains over the sliding glass door. Mostly sneakers. A blood pressure cuff squeezed and let go, squeezed and let go.

I postponed my long-awaited injection for my aching hip.

I took the watch off for the x-rays and did not put it back on. As a timepiece, it stinks, and as an SOS device, it doesn’t work, so why wear it?

My watch has a name now. That POS. You know what it stands for.

My young PA said the x-rays showed no fractures. A CAT scan might show hairline cracks, but the treatment would be the same, so she wasn’t going to order any more tests.

I knew the drill from my last rib injury: Lidocaine patch, Tylenol, ice and hot pads, rest as needed.

Finally, I was free to go home. I passed the same people in the waiting room. The woman with the burnt foot wished me luck. I wished her the same. Kathy was waiting outside in her car. As we drove back to South Beach, we reminisced about previous ER trips.

At home, I cooked eggs and bacon for brunch and started making phone calls. I postponed my long-awaited hip injection, scheduled a follow-up with my primary care provider, and waited on hold to tell Medical Guardian that their watch didn’t work.

Did I set it up wrong, I wondered. If their products are so great, why were so many people waiting to talk to customer service? Eventually I gave up and left a call-back number for the next available representative.

It was raining, a good day to stay in and write, but I was distracted. I watched the last two episodes of “Sullivan’s Crossing” instead. The Netflix series is corny and predictable but comforting. Restless, I washed my piled-up dishes. I played solitaire. I paced around the house.

Standing hurts less than sitting, but I can’t stand all the time. Sleep? There is no comfortable position. I wish I had already bought myself a sturdy but comfortable recliner.

My ribs are bothering me less than they did at first. Maybe the Lidocaine patch and Tylenol are working. I’m oddly craving a hot bath, something I think will be missing for a while.

I remember when my mom stopped taking baths. She got too weak and couldn't get out by herself. Like me, she loved baths. Do I have to quit taking baths now? Maybe if I get some safety bars put in? Maybe if I switch to one of those walk-in tubs?

Medical Guardian finally called back at 5:30, three hours after my original call. A young woman named Danielle with a southern accent did some testing and playing around from her end and determined that the signal here in the woods is just not strong enough to support this watch. I could swap it for a pendant that might work better.

No thanks. I said I wanted to cancel my account and mail the whole kit back to them. Alas, cancellations were handled at another phone number, and the office was closed. They work 9 to 5 Eastern time. Fine. I will be calling.

This whole string of phone calls with the sales staff, and time spent filling out forms online, informing contacts, installing apps, and wearing the damn thing thinking I was safe has been a waste of energy.

To those readers who remarked on the size of the watch, yes, it is huge and ugly and not my style. But I thought I was doing the right thing. Maybe God did me a favor by letting me hurt myself soon enough that I can return the watch and get my money back.

Dear readers, I don’t know what to tell you. If you live somewhere with good cell service, these things may work for you. If cell service is spotty, a landline-based system will work, but not one based on cell connections. Ask before you buy. People who live in major metropolitan areas may not even realize cell service is not available everywhere.

In theory, the system I bought sounded great. But in practice, when I pressed SOS and truly needed help, I did not get it. I turned to my network of neighbor-friends as always.

In the end, people are always better than machines. Build connections. Agree to be there for each other. And keep your phone handy.

Several people have recommended an Apple watch. Maybe I’ll get one. Maybe I won’t, but I need to figure this out. If I find myself in a situation where I am truly helpless, I do not want to lie here hurting with no one knowing I need help.

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How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.