The Emergency Room Journey
A few months ago my daughter had a serious fall that broke his ankle. I was almost positive that it is only a bad sprain, but she sobbed and cried, the pain was unbearable and that she was sure she had heard a bone crunch as they hit the ground. It was a Saturday afternoon (of course) and our normal pediatrician for office was closed until Monday. Our only option was a visit to the local ER.
Well, I do not know about you, but for me an ER visit ranks right upto walk over hot coals barefoot and sleeping on a bed of nails. It is a long painful process often to physical and mental pain.
"Can not we wait until Monday," I ask my daughter hysterical.
"You want me to suffer with a broken foot for two days?" She responds in her best voice abused child.
What is worse, the guilt trip by an experienced teenager or the eternal waiting and condescending attitude of a given ER trip? Hmmm, that one of theToughie.
I worked in a hospital, and I know that the ER-qualified professionals and talented group of men and women trained to be treated with gunshot wounds, internal bleeding and sometimes missing fingers or toes. In fact, I am sure that they have decided, in the ER because they like the challenge, which is never too sure, is what makes life terribly threatening emergency comes through the door next to come work.
Perhaps that is why they in debt ridden mothers or get angrysomething more dramatic than young people.
One Sunday evening my younger son, his older brother beaten over the head with a kitchen bar stool made of wood. For fear of a concussion I checked the young victims pupils, and asked such questions are like "you dizzy?" and "Are you sick."
He said yes to both questions, so I rushed him to the emergency room. After waiting to get nearly forty minutes in a waiting room, and to see thirty, a doctor, I was humiliated when theysame boy assured the doctor that he felt good and not a bit sick.
Once the doctor after he gave me that look like over-protective mother-wasting-my-time "that they are all down, I turned me to get my son, who was happy to leave and asked him dressed. "Why did you tell me you were sick?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I thought it meant hunger!"
As mothers, we detail what was waiting at the ER desk while we sit in the exam room discussionHours and hours with Nickelodeon or Disney Channel runs incessantly in our ears. We are pretty sure that doctors and nurses make fun of us, and ask myself, why not ask the state to test a kind of expertise to be a parent.
Still, if it get a bad cold, a failing kidney, or as in our case, a bruised ankle was feeling much better ten years old minutes after arrival at the ER, the medical staff or so paid. And well paid. You can not go to a doctorOffice or practice and get the kind of tests that are routinely prescribed by an ER doc.
"Let's get an x-ray, CT scan of a lumbar puncture and fourteen vials of blood … and I promise you it will not bring her child in here again when one leg dangling a piece of muscle have."
So, if there is such a pain, the ER visit, and I assure you it is! Why do we keep mothers do it?
The answer is simple … Guilt. Mothers have the unique ability to carry around guilt better thanany other creature, human or otherwise on the planet. What is more, have the ability to present include mothers, all the scenarios, answering questions at the inquest, died when their son or daughter because the headache was found to be a seemly innocent brain eating parasites. And they had just crashed Junior or Juniorette the ER if they have a chance, all at the wake she would not have to stare with dismay and Judgement in the eyes.
Sure, the chance that a child could diefrom a brain eating parasite is quite low, probably less than the lottery win or attacked by a gang of angry Girl Scouts. But if there is any possibility … Do you want the MOM was not careful enough?
What does this mean I still humbled when I my child, as on deaths door, to the ER only to find that her ponytail holder is too narrow to take action. ER docs and will continue their frustration, vent by two hoursTo make a quarter test. (And yes guys, I know you do!)
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