TheMommyBlog

Three hours, eight vials of blood, one urine sample, and two x-rays later, I was congratulated on a raging kidney infection. I mean, really, who gets those? And why me? And why so close to another holiday weekend??

And what is with the social dynamic in emergency rooms? Either everyone keeps to themselves and suffers in silence, or the latch onto one another with a desperate sort of alacrity. Folks, the one place you can stare at the wall and exercise your God-given right to be grumpy and anti-social is the emergency room. Embrace it.

I was on a gurney in a corner with two other patients. Across the room was a charming little 17 month old boy with a case of nursery elbow. Cute to beat the band, with a laugh exactly like Logan had at that age, and the same drooling problem. I was smitten. The parents were an adorable couple, obviously devoted to their child and trying to make him comfortable. They were expecting another child, and we went through the usual patter of hoping for a girl this time or they will be making the ER their second home, as I have.

On the other side of the curtain from me was a redheaded guy with a deep, bold voice who had torn calf muscle while doing stretches at the club. It always amuses me to hear how people relate their injury stories. “I was doing my usual warm-up stretches, you know, before working out, and I did one rep, then another, and then pop! So I went for a rubdown (because that is available to me, you know) and tried to see my orthopedist, who takes care of all the professional athletes in the Bay Area. I knew I probably wouldn’t get an appointment right away because he’s usually on the sidelines of the 49ers games… well not now, obviously, it’s not football season, but you can always see him there during the games. Anyway… blahdeblah speakityspeak..” I rolled my eyes and winced at the pain.

Once the doctor skittered off to find a pair of crutches for the guy and send him home, he got up and came around the curtain to talk to everyone as if we were all holding martini glasses and picking through the nut bowls for the cashews. I’ve spent so much time in hospitals and ER rooms that I have become inured to the lack of privacy and impersonal atmosphere, so for me, this was an amusing change, but good gravy.

And since I knew he was going through a divorce (a critical piece of information relayed during intake), it felt strangely like a pickup. I sat up and crossed my legs. Why? Why did I care? Normally, I don’t. When I was being fitted for both a cather and an epidural in the O.R. prior to Daphne’s birth via c-section, I broke into song: “I feel pretty, oh so pretty...”

Anyway, during the couple of hours we all waited to be diagnosed and discharged, we chitchatted and worked as a team to keep the little boy giggling and distracted from his dislocated elbow. As I was led away to Radiology, I waved and promised to be back soon to play more peekaboo when his lip trembled at my leaving. Here I was, half-believing I was going to be admitted to wait out an obviously impending coma judging from the overwhelming pain and fever—I mean, I was in agony—but wave a child in distress at me and all of a sudden I’m Mary Freaking Poppins and Barney rolled into one.

Anyway, I’m home now and will try to spend the next few days in bed while the antibiotics do their work. I have a fresh bottle of Vicodin (wheeeee!) and several movies I’m dying to see. Also, as you may have noted, internet access. It’s still too painful to talk about, but the only reason I am able to post this now is that the entire system has been wiped and reloaded. My poor, poor little poopsie.