What It's Like

I plunk my butt into the not-super-comfortable chair after the nurse calls my son's name into triage. I don't know. I think it's triage, as a non-hospital person, I only know the jargon because I've watched ER, Chicago Hope and General Hospital half a dozen times but whatever.

I plunk my butt into the not-super-comfortable chair as the nurse looks at her paper and writes down my son's name. She asks me what Kiddo #2's symptoms are and I begin my list: not wanting to latch or suck, puffy face, lethargic, not sleeping for more than 20 minutes and he's a good sleeper.

I plunk my butt into the not-super-comfortable chair and realize that I'm wearing very false, false eyelashes. The kind that kinda look like feathers with rhinestones glued along the edges. Suddenly, despite not looking remotely like one, I feel like a stripper. Who wears false eyelashes to the emergency room with an infant in her arms?  Women that came home from their shifts at Nudie Bars R Us to find their babies have ear infections. Nice.  

I plunk my butt into the not-super-comfortable chair and decide that my fake eyelashes could be real if I just pretend hard enough, and probably the nurse won't even notice if I don't make them an issue. I blink a few times to make sure they're still there, which makes one of the eyelashes poke me in the corner of my eyelid, which makes my eye start running.  I'm sure this makes my plight look more convincing, as mothers that cry when discussing their baby's symptoms must really be scared, so I let it go.

I plunk my butt into the not-super-comfortable chair while the nurse writes Kiddo #2's symptoms. I catch her glancing at my eyelashes out of the corner of her eye, but like a true professional, she says nothing. She takes his temperature and checks the oxygen in his blood (while he tries to gnaw off the little finger plug thing) and asks how many wet diapers he's had in the last 24 hours.

I blink twice.

"Actually," I say, "I hadn't thought about it. I haven't changed him since this morning."  Stabbing eyelash or not, I start to well up.  Not wanting to eat, dry diapers.  Puffy face, and he's been an absolute sopping sponge for the last two weeks while he teethes his entire mouth of teeth at the same time, and in the last day his shirts, diapers and pants have been dry.  Dry.

"Actually," I say, "I hadn't thought about it. He hasn't wanted to do anything much at all. Except be in my arms cuddling."  It had been driving me crazy, his incessant need to be in my arms. I couldn't put him down or he'd swing into a wild rage of painful cries. So I carried him, despite the 34 degree heat (Canadian. In American I think that's somewhere around 110F) and my many things I needed to get done. 

"Actually," I say, "I hadn't thought about it. No, I haven't tried the Pedia-pops." Our freezer is full of homemade fruit Popsicles, and 100% juice pops. Why didn't I think to give him one of those when he wasn't drinking? Of course he'll eat that. What on earth? Where has my head been?

"Actually," I say, "I hadn't thought about it-- but I think the best way to see that my baby isn't feeling right is that I'm sitting here, in Emerg, wearing false eyelashes with my normal Mommy outfit.  No Mom with a baby and a 4-year-old has time to do make-up, get dressed, do hair, AND put on false eyelashes. Unless one of her children isn't feeling well."  The nurse nods sympathetically and sends me to the high-alert path directly to the Doctor on call. 

"Actually," I say, "I hadn't thought about it-- but clearly my 9 month old isn't feeling good. He hasn't tried to pull either one of these caterpillars off my eyelids all day. Please fast track my baby. I'm really scared."

The Doctor on call seems to float into the exam room. He looks like an evil scientist from a Marvel comic book. Or DC. I never could really understand the difference. He is suffering from lack of sleep and as we talk, I learn he was also recently suffering from chemotherapy. I immediately appreciate his care all the more; he knows what it's like to be on this side of the gurney.  He assesses my son, writes a script and I toss my eyelashes into the garbage on my way out the door.

The Doctor on call seems to float into the exam room. He looks like he's been up for three days. He smiles, shakes my hand and checks out my baby. He plays peek-a-boo with the baby to get him to smile or at least react. He sees his red eardrum and says he's got an ear ache and things could go two ways: 80% of these will clear up on their own, but we don't know which percent this earache is. I suggest that I was willing to sit in Emerg on a holiday, so we decide this isn't one that will just clear up.  I toss my eyelashes into the garbage on my way out the door.

The Doctor on call seems to float into the exam room.  He is bubbly and young. His hands are warm when he shakes mine and the twinkle in his eyes is real. He tsks that the baby isn't feeling well and really seems to care about getting Kiddo #2 back to normal. I joke that a slightly less busy version of him would also do. We chuckle and he sends me on my way. I toss my eyelashes into the garbage on my way out the door.

The Doctor on call seems to float into the exam room.  I find out he's a resident. He's got expensive shoes and pants on; I can tell even through my eyelashes.  I feel like this guy could be one of my recently-graduated students even though that is impossible; I haven't taught here since we moved.  He checks my baby for measles, mumps, sinus infection. He checks the baby's reflexes, skin tone for dehydration and eye colour for jaundice. He asks me how the pregnancy was and whether there were any complications with the delivery. He finally gets a look at the baby's tonsils and ears and sees one of the canals is red. He says, "I'm going to confer with the Doctor on call here, but I'm going to say this is an ear infection that is red enough to treat with Amoxicillin."  I smile and remember what it's like to be learning and  I toss my eyelashes into the garbage on my way out the door.

The Doctor on call seems to float into the exam room.  I was expecting a woman. I guess I don't know why, except that when the issue is for my baby, I expect a woman to take care of it. I wonder why that is while he looks at the baby's ears.  He says this is an ear infection that he'll treat. Then he decides he should look into Kiddo #2's mouth to make sure his tonsils aren't swollen too. He cups his hands in front of himself after he's done writing the script and makes idle banter while I gather our stuff to leave.  I toss my eyelashes into the garbage on my way out the door.