Jocelyn’s rallying cry since the moment we had entered the hospital was, “I want to go home.” As Friday dragged on, it intensified. She finished her nap and managed a bite or two of her beloved burger (“No, Mom, it’s a CHEESEburger!!”). Every time she complained about wanting to go home, I would say, “You have to go pee and walk around a lot, and then they will let us go home.” She finally latched on to what I was telling her, and we walked all over that hospital, drank our fluids, and stayed as busy as we could. J decided that the colored squares on the floor were different features of her beloved Mario Kart game, and she gleefully whizzed over them in her kiddie car, yelling, “Gray is oil! It makes me skid!” or “Yellow is a boost! Look how fast I am going!” Since our floor was an adolescent and diabetes unit, most of the kids were too sick to come out of their rooms, and I saw the nurses smiling as we passed by.
Through all of this, I was so grateful that I had worn yoga pants and a comfortable shirt the previous morning. I can’t imagine how rough my night would have been if I ended up sleeping in jeans. Since the children’s hospital was about 45 minutes from home in traffic (I had the family car), there wasn’t really a way to get the things that I needed, and I knew anyone who visited would have to pay $13 just to park. Thankfully, the hospital provided soap and towels, so it was sufficient. I can only imagine how rough it would have been for a single parent whose child ended up staying much more than two days. I only left J a couple times, once to borrow a phone charger from the front desk, and once to get some real coffee from a restaurant on the ground floor. Each time, I had to get someone to agree to stay near J while I was gone.
The parade of people–residents (good and not-so-good), nurses, nurse aides, housekeepers, dietary service workers, and the chaplain–was dizzying. I never realized how much your privacy is violated when you are a patient in the hospital. I was glad that I had always been sweet to my ER patients, even those who were out-of-control-nasty to me. It wasn’t hard to see how the hospital could bring out the worst in people. At the conclusion of our visit, I could mentally acknowledge that it was a very, very good visit with a good outcome, but I still felt traumatized. I wonder how much worse the many families and patients around us felt after days or even weeks of staying there. I met so many families who were facing serious and even hopeless situations. I left the hospital thinking, “I have no problems.”
Discharge orders were written at 4 p.m., and we finally left at 6:30. It took the poor nurse aide about 30 minutes to remove Jocelyn’s IV because she was so scared and kept yelling and fighting. I really give that girl credit. She used every trick in the book plus two and finally removed all the kerlix, the armboard, and the tape. What a relief to see J using both her little arms again.
Prescriptions in hand, we got our last dose of pain meds, and off we rolled via wheelchair transport to the lobby. Remember that wonderful valet parking? Well, it wasn’t free. The person at the desk informed me that in order for it to be free, I needed to get my ticket validated. What’s a mom to do? I left my daughter in the lobby with the transport girl and bolted to the elevators and back to our floor. “Oh, we don’t validate parking,” was the answer. I asked, “Who does?” and got a blank stare and a mumble. Frustrated and totally spent, I went back to the lobby and paid the ransom for my car. J was hurting again from all the transfers in and out of bed and wheelchair, and she started lashing out at me again. Ironically, the more I did for her during the visit, the more she seemed to resent me. Our car finally appeared, and I have never been so glad to leave anywhere in my life. After a brief moment of panic and feeling completely disoriented in the heart of the Medical Center, I recognized Hermann Park and realized, yes! I know how to get home from the zoo. Mercifully, Princess Crankypants fell asleep in the back seat as I drove, leaving me to sort out my cluttered brain in peace.
Tom
Christy
