Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Steroids, Blood, and Prayer: A Trip to the ER

A little preface:
I have permission to write this from the parent of who this blog is about.
She has a similar ridiculous life full of irony and snarky comments and understands my need to share.

I have gone to this client's house routinely for three years. He is like my own kid and I am practically family within their household. I've changed enough diapers and yelled at enough people to earn the spot. For habit's sake, we will call this client Baby Autism. I've been lovingly calling him that since he was actually baby-sized. Now he's almost as tall as me and will be turning eleven next month. Baby Autism is non-verbal, but insanely smart and very comprehensive of everything everyone says. Don't let him fool you. With that being said, let me paint you a picture...

On this particular day (yesterday) poor baby boy was sent to the ER with a minor infection that he needed a shot for. As previously stated, he is quite large and I was called in for back-up to hold him down for the injection. Off to the ER I go.

When I get there, Baby A is sitting so sweetly with his mommy (Diva Mom. If you knew her, you'd know why I love her so much and therefore deem her this name forever) and his grandfather, who we all call Pop. Baby A is obviously not feeling well because he is sitting still and not peeling paint off the walls to eat. We wait and we wait....

I blame this whole experience on Pop, who is very social and just couldn't stand NOT to talk to the couple that came and sat next to him. The man was there with his wife who needed her leg to be seen. Pop immediately strikes up a conversation with the man, telling him about a relative who was in a very bad bike accident this week. Pop innocently thinks he has just told an inspirational story about beating the odds, but really he has opened up a very dangerous portal. Immediately the man's eyes widen. Ya'll, Pop is a great guy, but despite his sweet smile and amputee leg, he still looks like a man to be feared. So I hoped this other fellow knew what he was doing when he took Pop's hand into his own. He began to pray. It was a very serious, scripture-filled prayer that... stopped every two seconds for the man to ask Pop a question and was followed by asking Pop for money. I'm not kidding. We were sitting with a traveling Evangelist who was raising funds to go to Jamaica to speak to the Prime Minister on behalf of the American Christians. He then wants to pray over Baby A, who is toppled over and sleeping on my shoulder. He wants to lay hand on him because he is a “healer”. Excuse me? Unless you have proof in the form of a Light Saber, you are not a healer, please don't touch my sick baby. People. You know how I feel about my Jesus and missionaries, but surely you see the problem here? Diva Mom wasn't having it and soon Traveling Healer Evangelist moves to another section of the waiting room, where I can hear him asking someone else for money after sharing an inspirational story of all the things HE (not God) has done....

We have now been waiting for three hours and have not been seen.

Soon, a man comes in frantic. He is bleeding from his thumb. A lot. The t-shirt he has wrapped around the wound is DRIPPING with blood. Bleeding Man probably cut his thumb opening his Gin bottle that he drank on the way to the ER, because he was certainly drunk. The triage nurses are not phased and he is sent to wait his turn... of all the seats in that waiting room, he sits behind ME. Me, the most squeamish, weak-stomached person I know. He is bleeding so much that I can practically smell the iron in the air.

Soon, I hear Bleeding Man talking to someone. Bleeding Man begins to ask the 7-foot tall, ALL muscle man across from him how he became so muscularly endowed. Muscle Man is humble, and tells the man he works out “some” and is an ex-marine. Bleeding Man isn't satisfied “No really,” he says, “what do you do?”

It's all I can do not to scream “STEROIDS! He does STEROIDS! Duh!!” By mentioning the marines, Muscle Man has then opened his own scary door for Traveling Healer Evangelist to come speak to him about “Soldiers of Christ”. As I walk out the door to get some air, I hear him praying over Muscle Man's sprained ankle...

It's been five hours. We have not been seen.

Bleeding Man grows tired of waiting and leaves. BUT, not before shoving his thumb in my face, asking if I want to see. I failed miserably at my attempts not to gag out loud.

At 9pm they finally call my sweet baby back, but by this time his meds had worn off and he had himself a good nap so it was full speed ahead and lots of banging around within the confinements of his hospital gown and bed. At one point, Diva Mom and I grew tired of prompting him to stay in bed and let him get up. It's then that nurses rushed in because Baby Autism had died. They were relieved to find that he had just pressed the “CODE” button on a serious rampage in search of food to eat... or plants, or cotton swabs. Because that's just what he does.

At 10pm the moment we had been waiting for had come and the doctor was in to give him his shot. I was there as moral support and to hold him down for the doctor. Doctor Butt-Head then informed me that I wasn't needed and they had staff to do that...

I spent six hours in the ER to be sent home. I tried to look for Bleeding Man, who had surely died in the parking lot from either Alcohol Poisoning or loss of blood, but I didn't see him.

Love and laughs,
Madalyn Payge <3


Note: Sweet Baby A is doing much better now and I did not mail a donation to the Evangelist, shocking- I know. Also, props to Diva Mom who handled the entire situation with SO much class. She is an amazing mommy.  

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