"Mom? Ummmm . . . so, I was at a friend's house, and . . . my foot fell asleep, but not the tingly kind of asleep, the 'oh, my foot is completely dead numb' kind of asleep. And, so, I kind of got up and tried to walk on it, but it only flopped about halfway, and . . . I kinda stepped on with all my weight . . . and I heard something snap a little bit."
Silence on my end. I have been sick and also numbingly tired. I am having some processing issues here. "Where are you?" I ask.
"In the car. Driving home."
This comment takes zero processing time. "Please tell me it's your left foot."
"Duh."
We do some quick back and forth. The walk-ins are closed. She doesn't want to go to the ER, so we decide to go together to the walk-in in the morning. "Do you have crutches?" I ask, knowing full-well that she does. We all do. Each son has a pair, she has a pair, and I have two pairs. Don't judge us; we are mobility-challenged as a family. I live about a half mile from her. "Come by on your way home," I tell her, "and I'll wrap your foot in an ace bandage."
She shows up about twenty minutes later. I prop her foot on a couch pillow on the kitchen table to wrap her up for the night. Hmmmm. Looks broken to me. Not a bad one, but I've seen this before on my own foot. "Fifth metatarsal," I announce.
After some back and forth, we decide to go to the ER. She'll be more comfortable if a professional wraps this until a cast can be put on. If she's lucky, she'll get a boot. After all, she's an RN and on her feet pretty much 24/7. My daughter gimps out to the car while I run around trying to get myself ready. My cell phone is almost dead, but I bring it along, anyway. I put on shoes. I am halfway out the door when I realize that I am not wearing a bra. Back in the house I go to get a bra on. No need to scare anyone at the ER.
As we approach the exit on the highway, we notice night construction has the hospital off-ramp shut down. Good thing we know the back way and that this is not a dire emergency, otherwise I might be tempted to direct us over the median and right through the line of trucks and workers pretending to get something done. We circle around through the quiet neighborhood of the town that opens up to the city where the hospital is located.
We arrive around 9:00 p.m. on a weeknight. Surprisingly, the ER is relatively quiet. There's a young man with what appears to be a back injury (perhaps the girl he has with him whacked him with a heavy object when he oogled another teenager). There are also a few people in their pajamas because what would an inner-city ER be without adults in their frigging cartoon character pajamas, right? We see no trace of the enormously pregnant woman who managed to waddle in front of us as my daughter gimp-waddled across the parking garage to the ER entrance a few minutes prior.
In case you didn't know, the ER here is a funny place. The other night it was on lock-down due to a shooting. Tonight local and state cops are wandering around, but nothing really seems amiss. At one point some businessmen arrive, announcing that they are state politicians searching for another state politician who is in the ER.
Then, the circus starts.
First, a man wanders in and announces that he has had the flu for days (oh, please do NOT sit near me) and now his "stomach is on FIRE!" Dude, you're SICK. That's what stomachs DO. Then, a woman wrapped up in a quilt arrives with her boyfriend and says, "I had my appendix out here three days ago, and I can't stop vomiting and haven't been able to poop since then." Even I know this isn't good. She, like the vanishing pregnant lady, will probably disappear into the bowels of ER rapid admittance.
The capper, though, is the woman who arrives at 9:30 p.m. with two very active two-year-olds in their pajamas and lightweight coats. The issue? "They haven't eaten or slept in days and their tongues are white and bumpy."
My daughter and I glance at each other and say, "Thrush," at the same time. Also, we do not believe that two active toddlers who are playing, running around, and laughing, have not slept for days. Best of all, these children who "haven't eaten . . . in days" are each stuffing their faces -- one with a bowl full of food, the other with large cut up quesadilla slices. Lady, your issue is NOT a fucking emergency. Get the hell out of here.
The doctor starts making a joke about my daughter's job (she is an elder care nurse), something about how she'd better take good care of him when he ends up in The Home. This is when my kid announces that actually in a couple of weeks, she will be working right here in the hospital.
At this point, the doctor stops, looks up from the chart and deadpans. "Good thing I was nice to you."
All in all, it's not a bad night. I am back at my house around 10:45 p.m., less than two hours at the ER from start to finish. It's probably a record. No matter if it is a record or not, it's an adventure, always an adventure wherever we go. Amazingly enough, even broken bones are funny in this family. Go figure.
