The Fever that Changed the Journey Part Two: Not Just Another ER Visit

Not Just Another ER Visit

My routine trips to the ER are not without stress. Rhyse is once again sick, uncomfortable, scared of the personnel, and for whatever reason we are usually arriving in the middle of the night when all sense of normalcy or social appropriateness is severely lacking!  If that isn’t enough with every visit I have to donne my educator hat, always answering that proverbial question, “so what does Noonans mean medically?” or “what are his diagnoses?” or my favorite, “how do you spell that?” Are you kidding me? All that information is in his digital chart! Why on earth do I have to spell something that’s right in front of them? Okay, so I am being cynical.  But truth be told, Noonans seems more like a rare, tropical disease by the way many medical professionals ask their questions! I’ll get off my soap box now…

Rhyse is 20 months old. He knows where he is the second we enter the parking garage with its green and orange painted walls, signifying where to park for the Children’s hospital (Spectrum, the general hospital is attached to the Children’s Hospital).  He knows the sights, the smells, and the bustling chaos of the hospital. He knows that men and women who hurt him wear scrubs and carry stethoscopes.  His fear is evident: clenched hands, rigid arms and mottled body.  He begins to cry from the get go and begs, with his hands and eyes, not to be taken out of his stroller. On any other occasion, anywhere else in the world, he would rather be held. But in the hospital he clings to his stroller for dear life, finding comfort in the idea that if he’s buckled in the seat no one is going to hurt him.  To this day it pains me to pull him out of his place of refuge to be poked, prodded, and squeezed, knowing he’s in utter panic.

After a quick weight and height check we were escorted to a room.  It’s an odd feeling when you walk down the halls of your Children’s ER and realize you know your way around, you know each piece of children’s wall art before you see it, and you recognize most of the staff: and they recognize you.

I looked up at the clock as I scooted onto the all-to-familiar, uncomfortable gurney with the thin, plastic mattress made for little butts.  The clock showed three o’clock in the afternoon. I knew it was going to be a long, hard day, and an even longer night. I had no idea this one day would turn into yet another tailspin of emotions, confronting the kind of fear I never even imagined would again be placed before me.

As we muddled along through each phase of ER protocol Rhyse became increasingly inconsolable.  By the time we had arrived at the ER his morning dose of Tylenol had long since worn off and any control over the fevers it previously held was gone. Not wanting him to be in any more agony than necessary I began pleading with everyone who came in the door for Tylenol—I was told he had to wait for the IV.  Each time we were alone in the room I was tempted to give him a dose from my diaper bag stash.  But I knew in the long run he would end up with a double dose, so I held off and tried to keep my nerves in check.