We made it nearly nine years without taking one of our children to the ER. I’d say, judging by those around me with young children, that this is something to be thankful for.
I always wondered which adventure would land us in the ER for the first time. I figured it would be Jrod – perhaps a broken bone from falling off the street sign that he loves to climb, or maybe stitches from falling into the coffee table after taking off from his hand –made vault.
Not surprisingly, our first trip to the ER involved Jrod. Surprisingly, our first trip to the ER had nothing to do with any of his various adventures. Poor Jrod was hunched over with pain in his stomach. Typically this would not be alarming. He has inherited stomach issues from both sides of the family. Usually a Tums and a bathroom break are all he needs.
His reaction was not exactly out of the ordinary either. Jrod is my drama king. We don’t have a drama queen in our house, even though the odds were in the girls’ favor. No, our Jrod does not have his dad’s calm and cool personality. He has mine; poor fellow.
He was out with his grandparents, and the pain didn’t seem to let up. So, we figured it was better to be safe than sorry. And so, hunched over in pain in the backseat, I drove to my son to the ER.
By the time we got to the hospital, Jrod hopped out of the car and stated that he felt fine. In that moment my maternal instincts kicked in. I put him back in the car, called my husband, and told him I was positive it was just gas. Chris was already on his way and he assured me that it was better to be safe than sorry.
So, we went in. I went to the front desk to register. The woman behind the desk asked if I was registering for myself. I told her I was there for my son and turned around to point him out. The least he could do was sit on the chair and act sick. But no, he was spinning around as fast as he could, doing his “dizzy lizzy” game - the same game that caused him to throw up his breakfast a couple of days earlier.
I assured her that literally moments ago he was doubled over in pain.
After waiting, my husband and I, and our used to be doubled over in pain son, headed back to the the pediatric wing. A nurse had him sit down in a chair to answer a few questions.
“Jrod, when did your tummy start hurting?”
He gave it absolutely no thought: “After I ate the popcorn at the movie theater.”
“Oh. How much did you eat?”
No way was I going to let this nurse think that we brought him in for a tummy ache caused by eating too much junk food. So, I interjected: “I have been assured that he did not eat that much.” She gave me a very particular smile. The ones that said, “Yep, you’re that mom.” So I let Jrod keep talking. Unfortunately.
“Jrod, when does your tummy usually hurt like this?”
Again, he gave his answer no thought: “Well, it’s usually after dinner because I eat so much food. I eat so much food. I mostly eat a ton of Mac and Cheese – like eight bowls.”
The nurse probably sensed my next interjection coming and concluded out loud that he didn’t look like he ate quite as much as he said he ate. But that was all. She didn’t make any comments about the kind of food he said he ate. She couldn’t hold me back: “We don’t let him eat just Mac and Cheese; he doesn’t eat much, but he eats well rounded meals. I can assure you.”
“Uh-huh. So, Jrod, do you drink a lot of milk and water?”
“Nope. I drink sprite. Pretty much just sprite.”
I gave up. I figured the more I defended myself, the guiltier I looked.
After asking where his stomach hurt, and Jrod saying that it didn’t, they moved us back to the room for a precautionary X-Ray. I was instructed to put him in a gown. Jrod couldn’t believe that his loving mother would put him in a “dress that has dogs with balloons in their mouths” on it. The only way I could get him in the gown was to assure him that everyone who is in the ER has to wear the gown.
He looked kind of cute. In fact, Chris wanted to take a picture. My son put his foot down and we realized we were being a little idiotic, so instead of capturing the moment, we pulled out the ipad to keep him occupied. About ten minutes into his game, Jrod declared he had to go to the bathroom.
I was glad, figuring this was the problem to begin with, until I realized he simply had to pee. It was all of the sudden urgent, so we hurried down the hallway. Our walk of shame included Jrod holding himself with one hand and with the other pointing out every person he saw who did not have on a gown with dogs with balloons in their mouths.
The bathroom was in use, so we waited. And again the drama surfaced. While swaying from side to side, holding himself with both hands, and moaning, he made clear that he needed a toilet now. One of the nurses heard him and rushed us off to another bathroom down another hallway where Jrod again pointed out each and every person who was not in a gown with dogs and balloons.
When we had safely used the bathroom, I made very clear to him that he shouldn’t wait to use the bathroom until it’s an emergency.
“But, Mom! I was playing risk and I had a really good set up. I was totally about to take over the world.”
Of course. He was about to take over the world. What was I thinking?
We waited and finally saw someone that I hoped was the doctor; unfortunately it was just someone to fill out paper work. She asked us for our insurance card. I had it in my hands only moments before, but now that she was asking for it, I couldn’t find it anywhere.
Chris asked me if I checked my wallet. Of course I checked my wallet. I assured him that I had checked my wallet. So, my husband went to get his wallet out of the car. He came back quickly. He had forgotten his wallet at home.
In a moment of panic, I asked the woman if she would watch my son while my husband and I looked for the insurance card.
Chris asked me again if I looked in my wallet. That was the wrong question at the wrong time.
We began searching the germ infested ER for a card that I swore I had in my hands only moments before. After searching the bathrooms, the waiting room, and the hallway, I gave up. I wanted a Lysol shower. When I opened the door to our room, I caught the tail end of the conversation between Jrod and the woman, who was kneeling patiently next to him: “Yea, I like Mac and Cheese too.”
Come on.
My husband was trying to figure out how to move ahead with the paper work without the insurance card while I gave my wallet one last try. There it was. I quickly exclaimed, “I found it!” My husband immediately inquired, “Where?”
Good grief.
Once the woman left, I anxiously moved over to the sink to wash away the germs from my adventure through the ER.
The water wouldn’t come out. Of course we had the room with the broken sink. “Of course we do!” I raised my voice at the sink and gave it a kick. Jrod pointed to the hand sanitizer on the wall. It was empty. Of course it was empty.
We finally saw the doctor. The first thing she did upon entering the room was walk over to the sink to wash her hands. My son quickly explained to the doctor that his mom already tried to wash her hands but that the sink was broken. She then pushed on a lever on the floor, explaining that it doesn’t turn on the normal way.
“Look, mom! Your kicking didn’t totally break it!”
Thanks, son.
“A lot of people can’t figure out how to turn it on.”
Thanks, doctor.
We listened to her ask the same questions and heard Jrod recite the same answers. I was too tired to interject. I even let Jrod explain to the doctor all the various reasons as to why he believes that his younger sister has magic powers.
Clearly ready to discharge us, she showed us the X-Rays and gave us her professional opinion: he needed to poop.
“Yes, I do.” Jrod said, as if he had been telling us this for the last three hours and we had been refusing him the toilet. “It’s just that I can only go when I’m at home.”
So, almost three hours later, we arrived back at home. Jrod immediately went to the bathroom and all was Okay. I assured him I was not going to pay that kind of money for that kind of diagnosis again. My instructions to my beloved middle child were clear as crystal: As soon as you feel like you have to go, Jrod, you go. No matter where you are.
This morning, while cleaning up breakfast, I found my sons pants in the kitchen trash can. After much inquiry, I discovered that he woke up and felt like he had to go. So he went.
