Leaving work on Monday evening, I got a call from my mom saying Jory’s temporary doctor said he called Children’s Hospital and they were expecting us.
(Read "Are you serious?!", "Soaking," and "Back to el doctor" to get the back story). I wasn’t panicked, but was in a slight state of disbelief. My baby was going to the ER over this gimpy splinter.
I drove home, picked up Jory, his bear, and his police car. I’m not quite sure where he thought we were going, but I took them with us. I grabbed some magazines and some things for Jory to read and we were off. I assured my mom that I didn’t need her to go to the ER with me, didn’t need her to come with the girls, that Jory and I would be fine on our own.
While we were driving to Children’s Hospital, it dawned on me the first and last time I went to this hospital. It was two-and-a-half-years ago to say hello and goodbye to my baby cousin, Savannah. Before swimming lessons, I got the call from my mom to come to the hospital because there was nothing more the doctors could do for this three-week-old who got an infection that had spread to her brain.
I felt so bad for my cousin and her then boyfriend. I felt guilty. How many times had I driven past their house on the way to work and from work and thought I won’t stop today, I’ve got to get home to the kids or as I told Mona, I’ll see the baby at her welcome home party. But instead of driving to her welcome home party that Saturday afternoon, I drove to Children’s Hospital to see her being kept alive by machines as she was cradled in her sobbing aunt’s arms.
I parked in the same spot on Sunset that I had parked for her visit. I put money in the meter, put my purse on my shoulder, and Jory on my hip. After a misstep of trying to get into the emergency room via the ambulance entrance, we hiked around to the front of the hospital where we took periodic breaks where a falling Jory was lifted up or switched to another position. Arriving at the front desk of the hospital, I was given a map on how to get to the ER. Take a left at the end of the hallway, then a quick right, then a left, then a right by the giraffe elevators, and then a left. Uh, okay. Yeah, I don’t do well with maps. At the end of the first hallway, I cast the map aside and just tried to figure it out with the signs around the hospital.
We arrived at the ER; I quickly put down my heavy son, my heavy purse, and took off my jacket. If I’m hot then it must be a billion degrees in the hospital or I exercised hard. I think it was the latter. I checked in with the guard and looked around the waiting room. Why were so many people in the ER at 7:30PM? Why were some children wearing masks? Were they highly contagious? And if so, why have they been left out with us, the general public? I took out a magazine and called Mona to wait out the long wait. Surprisingly in a short amount of time, we were called to the window where our information was taken. I thought I could skip, hop over to the window by myself, but Mr. Jory was not being separated from his mommy. Does he not understand that if I take him, I have to take all the important stuff with us? Does he not see all the people in the waiting room and how our chairs might be taken? Nope, doesn’t understand, doesn’t see and doesn’t care. I took him with me, where he was amazed at the in taker’s fast typing speed. She told him she had been doing this job for a long time.
A few short minutes later, we were off down other long, long hallways to go to waiting room number two, which was even smaller than waiting room number one. But at least here, there was a television with a sign that read “This television is for children.” Unfortunately some adult thought “American Dad” and “Family Guy” were quality children’s program. Luckily Jory was more interested in the toys meant for toddlers, than he was in the television.
(Waiting room two)
We waited and waited, until Jory said he had to go to the bathroom. I grabbed my purse, left the rest of the stuff, and picked up my one flip flop wearing son. The bathroom thankfully was empty and right next door to the waiting room. I put Jory down on his good foot and told him to place his sore foot on top of my shoe.
“Mommy, I have to boo boo.”
Are you serious?! At a public bathroom, little boy. This is the worse timing, but okay. I bend at the knees and lift him up hovering over the toilet, like I do for the girls. Next thing I know the wall is being sprayed with pee and some of it is splashing back on me.
“Jory put your penis down!” That’s right, holding him is not like holding one of the girls.
Penis is down and now being aimed at the toilet. But then I discovered he was having an explosive bowel movement. Thankfully it was a short one. When he was all finished, I surveyed the mess and realized I was going to have to clean up the public restroom. Jory passed me paper towels as I cleaned the wall, the toilet seat, and dried the floor. Oh, the joys of parenthood.
We returned to the tiny waiting room where Jory entertained me with his slightly off key rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star on the toddler piano. A short while later, another trip to the bathroom. My son has diaheria at the hospital. On one hand a great place to have it if you’re ill and it’s a symptom of your illness. On the other hand, YUCK! Really, we have to use a public bathroom.
This time he was ready with the keeping his penis in a downward position. Unfortunately it was taken him more than a minute to go and my arms started wavering. Yep, not only do I get to clean the seat again, he got the bottom of my pants leg and my shoe. Awesome. Another clean up job, only to return to find more people in the waiting room.
I looked at my watch and thought I better check to see if I could leave my car on Sunset. The guard guarding the sacred ER rooms wasn’t sure. Over the fields and through the woods, Jory and I trekked, this time with him on my back to get to the front of the hospital. As we were about to exit, I asked the guard about my parking space. He felt my car was moderately safe and now since it was after 8PM, parking was free. I was happy not to have to walk more with Jory and pay seven dollars to park, but on the other hand I wish I would have known this before we walked all the way up to the front. I was so tempted to stop at what must be the 24 hour McD’s, but I stayed strong and resisted. I was staying faithfully to my diet.
Another guard saw us walking back and smiled, “Stretching the legs?”
I just nodded and smiled back, what was I going to say. Finally I couldn’t do it any longer and I had to put Jory down. Pulling a toy van out of his pocket, he got on his hands and knees and began pushing his van down the hallway. For a second, I thought how gross, but my arms, back, and hip were gratefully for the break. We turned down the hallway, but it didn’t look right.
“No, Mommy, we need to go the other way.”
Praise God for little boys with great sense of directions. I love this male gene. I love this little boy.
I checked with the guard to make sure our name hadn’t been called and sadly he said, no. We went back to the waiting room only to discover there was only one chair. Jory sat in my lap as I dozed off and on, until he woke me for another bathroom run.
This time our game was on point and there was no cleanup necessary. SCORE! We returned to the waiting room to find new families and only one children’s chair available. I placed Jory in the chair, leaned against the available wall space a chair away from him and dozed.
After another bathroom run, we heard it. We heard his name being called. Grabbing our stuff quickly, I threw my baby on my hip and walked as fast as I could, so we would not be forgotten. Four hours after arriving to the ER, we were in a room with a toddler who was sick. Really, do we have to be surrounded by sick children? My son is healthy and I want to keep him that way.
(In the ER room)
Fifteen minutes later, a doctor came in and took our information. I gave him the bottles of anti-biotics Jory had been taken. As he rattled off the names of the drugs I thought, that was hot. I’ve got Grey’s on a season pass. I watch Grey’s Junior, when I have nothing else to watch on Hulu. But hearing this doctor say the hard-to-pronounce names of the drugs without missing a beat somehow sounded sexy and he wasn’t even that hot, but that ability inched him up the hotness scale. Who knew I would ever find that hot?
The doctor looked at his foot and asked what happened. I stated that Jory had a splinter and part of it must have broken off in his foot. The doctor decided to put some cream which numbed, on the bottom of Jory’s foot, but he warned me it might not work since the bottom of our feet is a tough area to deaden.
(The deadening cream with a bandage on top)
He also ordered X-Rays so we were off on another journey. Left, right, right, left. We arrived at a ghost town or rather the X-Ray department.
“Hello,” I called out in the empty room.
We looked down the empty hallway. No other humans appeared to be around until suddenly a man questioned, “No one’s in there?” He gave us a little scare. He looked in the X-Ray waiting room, and then told us to follow him.
I laid Jory on the X-Ray bed that was hard and just had sheet on top of it. The X-Ray technician put a shield on Jory’s private parts.
“Why are you putting that there?” my baby questioned.
“To carry on the family name and make sure mom gets some grandkids,” he responded back.
Jory didn’t understand that answer, but I smiled and approved of this technician’s way of thinking. And like the brave boy he had been through the whole ordeal, Jory let his foot be positioned to take X-Rays from all sides. When the technician stepped out of the room, I snapped some pictures. This was our first time to the ER, happening around the same time I went to the ER for the first time many, many moons ago. This needed to be documented.
“First trip to the ER, huh?” another technician said from behind me.
I sheepishly nodded.
Our technician came in and said, “Come look at your X-Rays.”
He picked Jory up and we went into the other room to see a needle in Jory’s foot. As plain as a day that was definitely a needle in my son’s foot. Where in the world did he find a needle in our non-sewing household? Our household is so non-sewing that he and Rowan can’t even get the badges they earn in AWANA put on their vests.
Back to the ER we went following my brown eyed boy’s impeccable directions. I laid him on the bed and waited for the doctor again. He called us into the other room to see the X-Rays.
“How did you get a needle in your foot?” he asked Jory.
“I put my foot on the nightstand to get on Mommy’s bed and it went into my foot, but the top was broken off,” the six-year-old answered.
Wait, why is this the first time I’m hearing this version of events? Where did the needle come from? Why is the eye of the needle not on the needle? I think three someones might have gotten into Oma’s sewing container.
The doctor turned to me as I was shaking my head and told me he would try to get the needle out since it looked close to the surface, but if he wasn’t successful Jory would have to be admitted and a surgeon would have to get it out.
Some shady happenings go down one Sunday night a week before and now there’s a possibility of surgery? Are you kidding me?! Uh, did I sign up for this?
He told me in case he had to dig around for the needle; he was going to put Jory in a haze. I agreed to the haze and walked behind him as he carried Jory to the next room. The kind nurse with the amazingly perky voice for midnight and the male nurse prepped Jory for the procedure. They took his blood pressure, hooked him up to the heart monitor, and answered Jory’s questions throughout. Then came time to put the IV in and unexpectantly my son turned into the Hulk. Jodi, I’m sure with “I” because that would fit her voice, commented on his strength as the male nurse stepped in to hold down Jory’s arm as she inserted the IV into my crying baby.
("He's alive!" exclaimed Dr. Frankenstein.)
(Iicky IV!)
Once she was done taping it down, Jory asked for it to be removed but she told him he needed it for the medicine. A few minutes later the tears were dried and she came back with the medicine. She inserted it into the IV as I watched the doctor clean Jory’s foot. I tried to seem like a concerned mother, but I really wanted to see what the doctor was doing. It was like I was on my own episode of the truly missed show, Trauma in the ER on the truly missed network, Discovery Health.
I heard Jodi ask Jory to take a deep breath, once, then twice. Then she said, he’s already asleep. It took him two seconds to get knocked out. I thought I should hold his hand so they’ll think I’m a good mother, as I tried to watch the doctor lance Jory’s sore.
Looking up at my son, I was slightly freaked out because his eyes were wide open. Uh, okay, that’s not strange at all. Seeing my reaction, Jodi assured me that most people’s eyes are wide open like that, and Jory might start to twitch or his tongue might start hanging out his mouth, and all of it was normal. I nodded, and then picked up his hand. It was cold. Okay, this officially upgraded from slightly freaky to completely freaky. What am I holding the hand of a dead person? I thought about mentioning it, but thought Jodi might think I was weird so I kept mum.
I rubbed Jory’s hand to warm it up as the hot doctor commented that there wasn’t a lot of pus in the sore. It hadn’t looked like it to me either. It was mostly dead skin so I watched as he trimmed away dead skin. He told me as the sore healed and for a few weeks afterwards it would look a little ugly, but in the end it would be fine. I thought we can live with an ugly looking sore turned scab on the bottom of Jory’s foot.
He picked up the long tweezers, as Jory’s tongue started hanging out of his mouth, and pulled. Slowly he pulled the needle out. The hole is deep; it looks as if the body was trying to rid itself of the foreign body, the doctor stated, as he put the needle into a see through container.
A needle in my son’s foot for eight days. How odd, yet amazing.
Thankfully the needle didn’t cause a bone infection, the doctor continued, or he would have been taking anti-biotics for months.
Praise God for that, I agreed silently. God truly protected my baby from having the needle cause serious damage.
(The final result)
The doctor and male nurse bid us adieu and left Jodi and I behind to wake Jory. She said, it could take five to fifteen minutes for him to come out of it, but it might be slightly more difficult for him since it was 1AM and he would naturally be sleep around this time.
“Mommy,” Jory called to me.
“Yes, baby,” I answered, rubbing his hand.
“I can’t see anything,” he responded.
I rubbed his face. “Mommy’s right here.”
“Close your eyes for a little while and rest,” Jodi suggested.
Jory closed his eyes tightly.
I wanted to laugh that was no way to close your eyes to rest.
He opened his eyes back up and the fun began. It’s trippy watching your son come out of a drugged out state. He saw stars. He stared at his fingers and hands like they were doing something magically. He’d call for me, ask for his bear, and then say he still couldn’t see anything. He said nonsensical words and made odd sounds. I wanted to laugh out loud, but thought it might not be appropriate to laugh at him in his condition.
After about fifteen minutes, he came out of it.
(Poor baby!)
He knew how many fingers Jodi was holding up on both hands, but he was sleepy as all get out. And a sleepy Jory is a whiny, nightmarish Jory. Jodi asked him to take a few sips of cherry flavored Gatorade, but he refused. He cried. He put his hand to his mouth. No amount of rubbing, coaxing, bribing, on either of our parts worked to get him to drink. Finally Jodi offered him some Sprite and he perked up and agreed to drink that. She left quickly and returned with a small can. She told him if he drank a few sips and kept it down, he could go home and sleep in his own bed. I held the cup to his lips and he took a few sips. Score! Maybe we could get home before the sun came up on the Santa Monica Boulevard.
We waited for a few minutes to make sure he kept it down while I ruined my diet and drank the Sprite and Gatorade. I wanted us to get out of there fast. Jodi gave us the all clear; I signed our release papers, thanked her profusely, and seated my baby in the wheelchair she provided.
Left, right, left, over the fields, down the hallway, pass the Giraffe elevators, and we were back at the front of the hospital, with a slight pause for photo ops and a temptation to stop at Mc D’s. I picked up Jory and we walked out and around, down Sunset to the car. Score, no ticket! I lowered the seat, put him in, put his seatbelt on, and then got in the car. We were on our way home.
Amazing how quickly you get home when there are no cars on the street at 1:45AM, even if you take a slight detour because you’re driving down an unfamiliar street and the car lights, street lights, and signals make it impossible for you to see the name of the streets. We got home, I swiftly undressed him, put his jammies on, and put him to bed, where I quickly followed with the theme song of Merlin humming us to sleep as our first and hopefully last adventure to the ER came to a close.
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