A Cast of Characters: One Night in the ER

It was 4pm and Aidan wasn't looking good. He was being treated for an ear infection with antibiotics which had been switched because he seemed to have no response and just got sicker. Yet now he was lying on the floor and poking his forehead with his chubby little fingers. You know something is not right when your 19 month old is lying still on the floor.

Mark has left for his weekend job and I was alone with the kids. I had a choice to make. I have a rather unreasonable dislike of driving and avoid it as much as possible. I had the choice of asking Mark's father to come and drive me to the ER while Mark's daughter watched Stephan, age 10, and Abigail, age 5 months. However, something empowering swept over me. When Ralph got to our house at around 4:45pm he asked "well who's driving you?" I said "I'm driving."

He arrived at the same time as the pizza I'd ordered thinking to spend a night binging with the kids. Instead I shoved two pieces on a plate grabbed a water bottle, loaded the stroller and began my trek with Aidan in Friday evening traffic to the emergency room. I had no time to wait for the pediatrician's office to call me back. He was burning up and the Motrin I had given only 2 hours earlier was not breaking the fever.

He moaned as I drove and while I crooned soft reassurances to him and maneuvered the beast of a minivan in heavy traffic. Suddenly I noticed I was not afraid about the trip. Sure I was griping the steering wheel and tense about having to hit the brakes constantly due to people tailgating on a high density road, but I was not freaking out. I was afraid for my son.

As we drove, I kept trying to recount how many ounces of formula he had and whether or not he'd eaten anything during the day. Had Mark given him a morning bottle? Did I remember him eating anything at all? I hated my multiple sclerosis at that moment because in the past five years my short term memory has gotten worse. Had he had anything to drink? I didn't think so. I wondered if it was my MS or if it were a normal thing for a stressed out mother to not recall if her child had eaten anything. Swerving the car around a truck which had no brake lights, I got myself back into the correct lane and peeked at Aidan in the rearview mirror.

He was so listless, and he kept poking at his eyes which were red rimmed. There was no cough. Just immense amounts of snot and drool running down his face. Then he'd wipe his had across it and get upset as it smeared on his cheeks. When we got to the hospital I parked in the handicap spot feeling that although my legs were working this was one time I didn't need to add a hike to my evening. Inevitably I parked on the wrong side of the hospital next to what was now the "old emergency room". With Aidan in a stroller and the over stuffed diaper bag, a woman directed me down the elevator, back outside and around the back of the hospital to the new ER.

I was lost the moment I walked in the room. It was not packed, but there were at least 12 other people already there. I felt them all pause to look at me. I reminded myself that when I was done registering and sat down, that I too would look up at every person to walk in and it was nothing more than normal curiosity. But I still felt like I had a flashing neon sign over my head reading: "Beware! Mother who doesn't know what she's doing."

I went to the table laden with little fill-in sheets and tiny pencils that looked as if they had been lifted from the nearby golf course. Quickly I filed out a slip and then was presented with needing to "time stamp" the sheet. There sat a box with a clock on it. I'd seen these in movies but never in real life. I slid the paper in the slot. Nothing. I did it again. Nada. Now I really felt the neon sign above my head with a pointing hand added and a voice saying "See? She's totally clueless!" I looked around me and muttered "What am I doing wrong?" I actually gave the machine a bash with my hand while the other slid the paper back in. It stamped, I jumped and turned beet red. (Or at least it felt like I was.)

Next it was time to place this little white paper, the only thing letting the ER know about my child's bad state, into a clear plastic folder on a closed door. I did what the sign told me to do and sat down. At this point, Aidan made it clear he needed to be held. I tried to pull him from the stroller but the front wheels would not lock so the stroller rolled forward with him and his feet caught. He groaned and I jabbed my foot against one wheel to hold the stroller steady. Again I heaved and out he came. We both flopped back into the chair and I looked about me wondering if anyone was noticing that I had absolutely no experience with this type of situation. Sure Stephan my 10 yr old had been to the ER before, but always I had Mark with me. The one time previously when I had taken Aidan to the ER after he fell off the bed (bad mommy points); my father had driven because I was in hysterics, overridden with mom-guilt.

As I sat with Aidan draped over my chest, his head on my shoulder, his legs wrapped about my waist like a chimpanzee, it was my turn to look around the room. There was an area with benches in between the outside and the room I was in. Most of the parents seemed to be there with babies. I wondered if I was supposed to be out there, but was content to be as close to the door with the form folder as possible. I wanted to make sure someone knew my son was ill but I also was not about to go banging on windows yet.

Next to me was a girl. Possibly 20, who told me she had already been there for 4 hours. Across from me a boy in a cowboy hat with his swollen ankle propped on a chair. Next to him and the ranch owner, a very nice woman whom I later became acquainted with, was and old couple. The older lady was feeding her husband bits of apple and she smiled at me. "It's hard when they're so sick." I nodded and turned my face into Aidan's. He nuzzled against me while I peeked at a man with coke bottle glasses and a security badge. He was informing a very irate woman that the wait for each person would be an average of 4 hours. I looked at the evil time stamp machine for the time. My eyesight has increasingly become worse since my many bouts of optic neuritis. (My MS' favorite way of telling me it's time for a flare-up!) I could not make out the numbers but it looked to be 6pm now. I'd left my watch at home. In fact I was in lounge pants and an old white maternity tee shirt because I felt baggy was better for covering my mommy belly. (Instead it only draws more attention to your belly.) My hair was held back by a purple bandana that matched my pants. That was my only nod to an attempt at fashion as I'd not thought I'd be leaving the house that evening. I immediately berated myself for even thinking about my looks and clothing because it was the friggin hospital not a London fashion show!

I had dressed Aidan in his pjs that were shorts and thin material because I knew he needed to stay cool. One person asked why he was wearing tennis shoes and I relayed to them a story of when Stephan went to the ER and I was criticized by a nurse that "all children needed to have footwear". Later I was to find this hospital didn't care and I switched him from his shoes to his fuzzy slippers. (Thankful I'd remembered to pack those shoes.) I went back to worrying about Ralph, my father in-law being with Stephan and Abby for 4 hours. Abby had been asleep when I left, but I knew she would wake up and need changing and feeding. Stephan would be fine and I had already asked him to help grandpa with Abby.
(I truly had nothing to worry about in that arena as grandpa and Stephan found a video game they liked and played it in the master bedroom while Abby watched enraptured until she went to bed for the night.)

Four hours average. I prayed that Aidan would be seen quickly. Sure enough in about 30 minutes he was called for triage. This is where they decide how important your emergency is and when it will be treated. The nurse looked him over and then had me lay him across my lap for a rectal temp. Although he was a limp noodle, Aidan still had the ability to look at me as if to say "you're putting that where?", when the nurse inserted the thermometer. His temperature was 104.5 and he was refusing to drink. I was now frantic.

To be continued…