Stronger Meds

So, my son, lying on a gurney in the emergency room with a bag of IV fluids/antibiotic dripping into his vein texts me that the word "surgery" has been bandied about and that he cannot "do" surgery.

What is going through his mind? What does he think this is, a lottery?

"Michael, congratulations! Since we're not that busy today, we have time for a surgery - you're the lucky recipient!"

He must be crazy with fear. Or just crazy. At this point, I am thinking the latter, not the former. No doctor ever suggests surgery in the emergency room as an elective. This would be called, "emergency surgery". Emergencies are, plain and simple, emergencies. Life and death, sometimes. However, since the word has merely been mentioned, obviously, there is a chance that the infection is not as bad as doctor initially thinks, and that the IV will be enough until oral antibiotics can be prescribed, bought, and taken as directed. Still, I think my texting back, "Can u do death?" may jolt Mikey out of his dream world and bring him back to the reality of his being in the EMERGENCY ROOM of the HOSPITAL.

He texts me back: "No."

I text: "Then u can do surgery."

He: " i will ask for stronger meds."

Me: "If the doctor says surgery, u will do surgery. This is nothing to play with."

He: "They are doing ultrasound to see if infection is worse than he thinks."

Me: "k"

April: "Mom, the air conditioner guy is here."

Shelley: "How is Mikey?"

OMG! I am being overwhelmed by texts! The last two coming in and my answer to Mikey are all swallowed up by each other. As fast as they come in and as I try to answer each in turn, the cell phone rings. It is Charity, my friend from work.

I am updating her on all the goings on when a nurse comes out, walks up to me and asks, "Are you with Michael? We need you in the back...they've been looking for you."

ACK! They've been looking for me? Have they taken him to surgery??? Oh, no! In the middle of a sentence I blurt, "Igottagobye!" to Charity and hang up. How rude, I know, but I haven't received a text from Mikey in the last several minutes, and "...they've been looking for you." I gather my purse, cell phone, and whatever other crap I have and hurry after the nurse.

We come to a glass sliding door and she pushes a lever on the wall to the left. The door silently swishes open. Hold on...in spite of my worry, I am impressed. This looks like Star Trek. I half-expect Sulu to meet me and inform me that the captain is on the bridge. Anyhow...she leads me into a darkened room. The gurney is on the left, and contains my son; the IV is next to him, ticking the drops of antibiotic into his vein. A large chart hangs on the wall to the right, with a rolling table beneath it. A huge window that covers most of the right wall looks out into a hallway that is bustling with staff hurrying to and fro, and the door, which has swished closed after me, is entirely glass so that the nurses at the nurses' station, directly behind that door, can see what is going on. To complete this picture, it is cold in here.

Mikey is texting. "Oh. There you are. I thought you might want to be here instead of in the waiting room. I was just texting you that they were coming to get you."

OH MY GOD! This nurse needs to watch how she speaks to people in the ER waiting room of a hospital! Sheesh! She scared me to death! Wow.

Mikey fills me in on the details of the IV ("It hurts.") and how he does not want surgery because he is afraid and he cannot see how he can afford it, since he has no insurance and no job, and no money, etc. I tell him that it is not important about money or insurance right now, and that if a doctor says the word "surgery" in the ER of a hospital, it could very well be the difference between life and death.

This is a surreal conversation, actually. My son looks FINE. He is in pain, yes, but his color is good, his sense of humor is intact, his reasoning powers are sharp, and he is able to carry on a conversation in a calm, rational manner. Surely this word, "surgery", is only the doctor covering all his bases.

I walk over to look at the IV. There are two bags hanging. One is an antibiotic that contains ampicillin. That is the one currently flowing into his veins. The other one is....clindamycin! What???? I know that antibiotic, too. Earlier this year, my friend nearly lost his hand - and was told that he could lose his life - because a little scratch he got while working in the yard became infected. He ended up in the emergency room with this IV drip in his hand. He was told this was a last ditch effort to get the infection under control. An infection that occurred quickly and that he had not ignored. He had got to the doctor as soon as the hand swelled up and he could not move it - maybe two days after the initial scratch - and the clindamycin was given to avoid the loss of his hand or his life. He was even told that he could have permanent damage to the tendons in that hand because of the nature of the microbe that had infected him. Clindamycin meant that the doctor probably was not just "covering his bases" with the mention of surgery.

"Mikey. I know this antibiotic. This is heavy stuff. If the doctor says he needs to do surgery, you need to let him do surgery. You won't be able to ask for 'stronger meds' after this one."

He just looks at me.

"I'm serious, Mikey. If he says he needs to do surgery, you have to let him do surgery. You just do.....please."

"We'll see, mom. They said they'll give the meds an hour to work. I bet they'll work."

"Mikey....if he says surgery...."

"I know. I heard you."

"Ok."

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me. It's April. She wants to know what to do about the air conditioner guy. Although I have left her a blank check to pay McBee, she is uncomfortable with being there with the guy lest he ask her a question she can't answer, or advises her that it is necessary to do something that she has no authority to ok. She's a smart cookie, that one. I pace the floor for a minute (it's not a nervous habit...I pace all the time - I should be uber skinny, actually...) and ask Mikey if he thinks he'll be alright if I go home to check on the heating and air guy.

"Yeah, mom. They said it would be an hour. I'm sure you can go."

"If they say surgery before I get back, will you go into surgery?"

"Mom! You will be back before then."

"No! You promise me you will go into surgery without me here to convince you. Please, Mikey. Tell me you will let the doctor do surgery."

"Ok."

I go to the nurses' station and ask how long the IV will be going, telling her that I have to go home and check on my girls. She tells me the same thing that Mikey does; that it'll be an hour, and I have plenty of time. Ok. Decision made. I pop back into Mikey's room and tell him that I will be right back. He nods impatiently and rolls his eyes in an I-told-you-it-would-be-an-hour sort of way. I shake my head and kiss his forehead. I tell him I'll be back in a bit.

On the 20 minute drive home, I call everyone who has called me and left messages. I update them on Mikey's condition and promise to let them know of any new developments. I call April, too, and let her know that I am on my way home. As I pull into the driveway, I receive a text from Mikey.

"Mom, they want to do surgery NOW."

Oh....NO!