Thank God, we make it to the ER in about 10 minutes flat without me throwing up or passing out. Yes! Mom gets a phenomenal parking spot right near the door which is crucial tonight, since my chills/fever are out of control and the temperature outside is about 17 degrees. The brisk, wintery New
As we enter the ER waiting room, I am immediately overcome by a panicked sense of OCD that might actually rival my husband's; People hacking juicy coughs into blue surgeon masks, an elderly woman laying on a stretcher vomiting into a pink, kidney-shaped bowl, a teenage boy with his bloody arm in a makeshift sling, to name a few. I can almost feel the germs climbing off of these people, scurrying across the floor, and burrowing themselves any of my exposed mucous membranes. GROSS.
I walk right up to the receptionist and tell her why I am here: "Hi, the on-call Dr. - Dr. Sullivan- wanted me to be seen immediately for a potential pneumonia."
At this point, my mom drags a chair from the waiting room for me since I am swaying back and fourth, pale in the face, and may very well pass out at any moment.
Nasty receptionist barks at her, "Leave that chair there! She can stand for just a minute!"
My mom isn't pleased with this “friendly” welcome and glares at the woman, who then turns to me and shouts "You better speak up, I didn't hear a THING you said to me a minute ago."
My mom, again unimpressed by this rudeness and all too-aware of the state I am in, chimes back at her: "Her ears are completely clogged and her fever is almost 105. Maybe if you let her sit down and relax she could speak up better!"
Rude receptionist rolls her eyes and begrudgingly agrees to let me sit down in a chair.
She then proceeds to ask me a slew of questions that I am unarguably in no state to be answering.
"What is your race?"
"Cuban/American."
"Well, which is it- Cuban or American?"
"Umm, okay then, American?"
"Ethnicity?"
"White."
(rudely chuckling at me) "Sweetheart, you must mean Hispanic if you call yourself Cuban, right?"
"Fine. Hispanic, whatever." (at this point, 'Native American/Other' would have been completely acceptable to me.)
"Do you have a health care proxy?"
"Don't know."
"Are you an organ donor?"
"No."
"Would you like to be?"
"Preferably not tonight."
(she doesn't find this funny.)
"Would you like a member of the Catholic Archdioces to read you last rites if warranted during this visit?"
"Umm...no? I mean yes? I dunno, sure. But I'd also like not to die tonight."
(she is still remarkably unimpressed by my stale, fever-induced attempt at humor.)
"Do you feel safe at home?"
"Yes."
"Smoking, drinking, recreational drugs in the past year?"
"No, just wine on occasion."
"Define 'occasion'."
"Don't know, maybe once a week?"
(annoyed as she exaggeratedly pounds the
"Fine. Are we done?"
"Yes, please sign here indicating that you have read....."
I completely zone out at this point, just sign my Hispanic life away on the dotted line, and walk over to where my mom is sitting, slumping over in the seat next to her. So glad to be done with rudest reception lady ever.
In the hour that transpires as we wait in the waiting room, a young woman and her fiance (who had definitely been out for a Valentine's day date, given their dapper attire, ) come storming through the doors, as she repeatedly vomits into a freezer-size Ziploc bag.
Swell, I think as she decides to sit TWO SEATS AWAY FROM ME. Just what I need- now I will be getting the stomach bug too.
She vomits atleast 3 times into this sad, dilapidated Ziploc-o-puke, and I am very confused as to why she is allowed to sit out here in the open, exposing the rest of us to this vile bug. At this point, my face is completely burrowed into my coat and my jacket hood is on tight, much resembling the homemade get-up of a novice bank robber. I just keep telling myself, "I will NOT get the stomach bug, I will NOT get the stomach bug..." and hope for the best.
Apparently I doze of for a bit after this, and the next thing I remember is a sweet-as-pie nurse named Amy taking me in for my chest X-ray. I think to myself, Good to know at least some friendly people work here!
After Amy is done with me, a male nurse
Ha! ‘Lovely young lady?’ I chuckle to myself. I haven't showered in 3 days, my breath is atrocious, and my leg hair is longer than a Wookie's. I quickly deduce that after a few minutes alone in the EKG room with me, Josh will no longer be referring to me by this adorable pet name.
So into the small room we go, Josh the male nurse and I. He sort of resembles a young Anthony Michael Hall but with glasses. (Basically…a younger, male version of yours truly.) He makes small talk which immediately puts me at ease. Typical stuff; what brought you here, what an awful way to spend Valentine’s day evening, etc… He withdraws 6 vials of blood from the top of my hand since the rest of my veins are too deep to reach, and I am stunned.
“Wow, you are the first person ever to get my vein on the first try!”
“I never miss,” he remarked confidently, and smiled.
“Don’t believe so,” I replied.
“Ok then..” and he began sticking tiny little adhesive stickers to my shoulders, arms, and calves. (I’m pretty sure he had to comb apart an area of unruly leg hair to do so. No joke.)
“Ok, so the EKG won’t hurt at all, but I am going to need you to please lift up your breasts for me.”
Umm, pardonne moi? This request caught me a little off-guard.
He must’ve sensed the confusion in my face and immediately followed this statement with
“I need to get these sticky little thingies under there, and to be honest—my girlfriend works down the hall. I try to life as few boobies as possible so I won’t get in trouble—especially on Valentine’s Day!”
I am completely amused by his sense of humor and feel oddly comfortable lifting the boobies for him, (despite the sad fact that this is more a$$ than Jeff will get this Valentine’s Day.) And so he completes the EKG, and we sit there talking for another fifteen minutes about complete randomness—his Bosnian girlfriend, the fact that his grandfather’s grandfather translated the Lutheran version of the Bible, that is is actually 25 years old just looks perpetually 14, his days at Gordon College, and the fact that he doesn’t mind missing V-day with his girlfriend since “every day should be equally romantic.”
I felt like responding “Ha! Just wait til your days revolve around runny-nosed kiddos, play-dates, grocery shopping, and mountains of laundry!”
But alas, it was Valentine’s day, and he was a real sweetheart…and so I let him have his dream.
Josh told me that it was nice doing business with me, and I said the same, and he (finally) took me to a “real” room with a comfy hospital bed and some privacy. As soon as I lay down, I began shivering profusely again, and he brought me a “fresh out of the oven,” toasty warm hospital blanket- HEAVEN. He rubbed my hand for a bit and stayed with me until the chills subsided, ordered me more Tylenol, and then bid me adieu, telling me that he’d send my Mom in right away.
I was very impressed with his services, and swore that I’d send a gloating review of him to the Board of Directors at the hospital.
A few minutes later, my Mom came to sit in my room with me. Another nurse popped her head in and turned the TV on for us.
“Hi ladies, not sure how long the Dr. will be, so you may want to get comfortable!” she warned us.
I stayed huddled on my right side under the cozy warm blanket, and drifted in and out of coherency for the next two hours.
Finally, around two something in the morning, a salt-and-pepper haired Dr. with rosy red cheeks came bursting into the room, flicking the lights on with zero regard for my splitting headache.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Blah-blah,” he introduced himself. “Chest X-ray was fine. Blood levels fine. Positive for bacterial bronchitis, so we’ll start you on a Z-pack. And obviously an underlying virus causing the fever. Fluids and rest. Take care!”
It really was that fast. My head was spinning, and I lay there confused since I hadn’t even fully awoken from the warm-blanket coma that I had so been enjoying.
Wow, I said to my mom. And that’s why he makes the beaucoup bucks?! She tiredly agreed.
At least the nurse who discharged me spent more than 13 seconds with me, explaining the course of my pills, and asked if I had any questions. After I signed all necessary paperwork, I unwillingly peeled myself out from under the heated blanket cocoon that I had made for myself, stripped off the Johnnie, and put my own clothes on to head home.
AND SO….early Monday morning, around 3:15, my Mom dropped me back off at home and I crawled back into my own bed, where I’ve remained since. I do feel like the Z-pack (*might*) be starting to work, although I say this very cautiously so these words won’t come back to bite me in the butt.
Ava’s cough remains but her fever has disappeared with the rest of her other symptoms. Gav is definitely taking a bit longer to get better, presumably because he is so little and just doesn’t know how to help himself heal the way she does. My poor little buddy. It is so sad to see him this sick, at only 7 months old. Both are still on regular nebulizer treatments and antibiotics, but God willing, and end is in sight.
And then there is my Jeff…. my incredible knight in shining Clorox wipes. Remarkably, he hasn’t been contaminated with this yuckiness and we remain hopeful that by some miraculous measure, he has escaped it altogether. He has held down this fort all by himself in a way I never thought humanly possible and I am so proud, so lucky, so honored for this. It certainly isn’t a small feat to be the sole caretaker of three sick individuals, all with different needs, for days on end. He's balanced medicine dosages like a champ and has made sure that each of us has had food in our bellies and lots of fluids to drink. He is sleep-deprived and beyond depleted physically, but he’ll never show me this. It’s times like these that the whole ‘in sickness and health…’ thing really makes a difference. I could never have asked for a better life partner and am so privileged that our little family has him as our rock in difficult times.
And as for me? Well, I’ve spent the past few days in bed catching up on a gluttonous amount of Teen Mom, Let’s Talk About Pep, and The Buried Life. (the latter of which is actually completely inspirational and touching, by the way.) I have seen approximately 7,296 ads for the New and Improved Pro-Activ Acne solution as well as the second generation Swivel Sweeper G2. I’ve also learned that MTV does in fact still air music videos, but only between the hours of two and six am. I’ve been surviving on Ginger Ale, Robitussin with Codeine and Riiiiiii-colaaaaaaaa lozenges. My fever is finally down a little bit today and my biggest complaints at the moment are an incredibly sore back from all of the coughing, and this ever-present pounding headache. Improvement- baby steps, but improvement.
Our neighbor Laura is bringing us dinner tonight because she is an absolute Saint!!! And I am happy to report that Ava will be having something other than PB & J for dinner tonight. (this is not me judging, by the way- Jeff obviously had his hands way full and as long as she was eating anything, I was happy.)
Hopefully everyone is on the road to recovery and I’m praying that in the day or two ahead, things will slowly start to settle back into some resemblance of normalcy.
Oh, and by the way? Please click here for a brief reminder as to why last week's medicine situation ain't got nothin' on this week's. Psshht.
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