"Mom, I can't do surgery,"

I have my list, I have my cell phone, I have my son in the front seat. He is sweating, so I turn on the air conditioner - the one in the car actually works. He reaches over and turns the vents away from him. This is a first.

"Are you cold?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah. I've got cold chills. I think I have a fever."

A fever? Man. That isn't good. Not with pain in his groin. This might be more serious than I thought. I pull out my cell phone and call my boss. I tell her that I won't be coming in today after all. She laughs and says, "I told you so." Then, I explain about Mikey. "Oh. That's not good. You'll be sitting there all day. Shouldn't you take him to the emergency room?" I explain that he has no insurance, and that we will be going to full service clinics. She does not sound impressed. "They'll all be full and you will end up at the emergency room anyway." What is she, a psychic?!

Two full free clinics and a text message later about the Roto-Rooter guy needing payment, and we are on our way back to the house. I am more than a little frazzled.

"Why are you being so picky!" I remember yelling at him. "These are FREE CLINICS...they are not posh, upscale places. You can't just look at a place and turn your nose up!"

"But mom. They looked...unsanitary."

Oh my gosh. This is my son? My son whose apartment looks like a bomb exploded in it? You are kidding me! Still, I don't know why I am yelling at him...they had both been full, anyway. It was just the fact that he had made the comment about not wanting to go to the one, and had been unwilling to stay at the other to see if he could be seen later in the day. And let's not forget that I had people coming over to fix my plumbing and air conditioning unit! I had things to DO! I did mention that my middle name is not "Grace", right?

The Roto-Rooter guy is done with his fix - 15 minutes worth of work for $101.60 (I'm in the wrong line of work, obviously) - and Mikey is lying on the couch...with ice on his crotch. With no idea when the McBee guy is going to get here to fix the air conditioner, I decide to go online and look up 211.org. I make many notes and make a few calls. I also get frustrated. Most of the other clinics require appointments and they only see patients after 6pm. I call one more out of desperation, and I actually talk to a live person!

It's a wrong number. What? You're kidding me! Nope, she's not. I have dialed the right medical center, wrong phone number. This number is for regular appointments. Yes, they do see patients with no insurance, but there is a waiting list. She asks me a few questions and then says, "Look, this sounds serious. I think you should take him to the emergency room. Don't worry about the cost; he cannot be turned away. A social worker will see you and you can fill out Title 19 paperwork. When you fill out that paperwork, you can then choose a physician. If you want to use our clinic, that will be the time to let them know. Please, don't worry. Everything will be fine. Just go to the emergency room. A 23-year-old should not be in this much pain."

Those were the words that I needed to hear to jolt me into reality. I repeated them to Mikey, and he said, "Let's go."

The car ride was relatively quiet. During the ride, he said, "Mom, I really hurt bad."

"I'm sure you do, honey. We'll be there shortly."

"Mom...what if everything is dead in there? The left side hurts more than the right, but both sides hurt. I don't want to be sterile. I want to have kids, someday."

What can I say to that? What can I possibly say? I cannot guarantee that he will not be sterile. I can't say that he will have lots of kids, someday. I feel terrible. I say, "Honey. Whatever is wrong has already happened. Everything could be fine and everything could be dead. I wish I could tell you that you won't be sterile, but I just can't. I'm so sorry."

We are both silent. He turns to look at me and says, "Well, if they're both dead, I want steel balls to replace them."

My son is contemplating losing his testicles and he jokes about steel balls. Oh my. Maybe this is not as bad as I think. His sense of humor is definitely intact.

Miracle of miracles, when we get to the hospital at 10am, there is only one person ahead of him. The intake is quick, and then, he goes to the back - alone. I am not one of those mothers who has to know everything. He is 23. I am the mom. I will wait for the doctor to come out to talk to me. After all, this is a delicate situation. I haven't seen these parts of him since he was a toddler. I figure we should keep the record clean.

Soon, I get a text message. It's from Mikey!

"Mom. It is infection. Firm and hard is infection."

A bit later: "Antibiotic IV"

Still later: "It'll be about an hour with the IV. He's talking surgery. I can't do surgery."

What, is he out of his mind to say he can't do surgery?

I text him: "Can u do death?"