Thursday, July 26, 2012

Wrong Hospital

"For me?"  I ask somewhat taken aback.
"Yes, you can use that phone over on the far wall.  It'll ring in a minute for you."

It rings.  For me.  In the emergency room.  That's crazy. 

"Is Mike there, yet?"
"What?"  (Oh no, here we go again...)

All I said was 'Hello' and already this conversation wasn't making any sense.

"Who is this?"

There is some hesitation on the other end of the line.

"It's Michelle."

Michelle?  I don't think Mikey's ever mentioned someone named Michelle.  Maybe I'm just a bit vengeful, but by golly if I could not have access to my own son when I am in person in the emergency room, this Michelle character is going to have to tell me who she is before I let her talk to my son lying bleeding on a gurney.  Maybe she had something to do with this.  I've never heard him - or any of his friends - mention anyone by the name of "Michelle".  But, maybe I didn't hear her right.

"Michelle who?"  I ask.

No;  no, no, no!  Look, I'm not one of those moms who has to know every little detail of my grown kids' lives, but because I have never heard him mention a Michelle ever, and because he is actively bleeding in this emergency room, and because I have no idea who shot him, why he was shot, or how he could be in a situation to even be shot...without a full name, she will not be talking to Mikey.  I have decided.

"Well, ok Michelle, he's over on the other side of the room, and I just got here myself and haven't had a chance to talk to him, but his sisters are here..."
"No, Mike is on the way there -"

Mike is on the way?  What is this girl talking about?  I am not in any kind of mood to play games with these people who don't want to tell me who they are, and then say weird things to me.

"He went to the wrong hospital, but he's on his way."

Wait a minute.  Mike is on his way?  He got lost?  This is not Mikey's friend...this is Mike's new wife.  Oh geez...she didn't want to tell me her last name because it's the same as mine now.  Seriously?  My son could be dying not 10 feet away from me and we're going to go there?  How shallow and hateful does she think I am?  Why would she think that I would care that she would be giving me information?  Wow.  Just wow.

"Michelle!  Oh my god, don't do that to me!  You're talking about Mike not Mikey!  What do you mean he went to the wrong hospital?"

And the conversation goes from there.  I don't know whether to be glad or mad or what.  So, I am relieved.  Relieved because finally the conversation makes sense - sort of.  At least it's understandable. I thank her and tell her to tell Mike we are in the emergency room and that he should just say that he talked to me and I told him to come.  I don't want him to have to go through what I did.  And, apparently, he's been trying to get hold of me, and my cell phone wouldn't ring - which explains why I got the phone call in the emergency it doesn't, really, but I'm finding that as long as I don't try to think too hard, things will go better inside my head.  I need something to go better somewhere.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

"It's for you..."

I am so confused.  April is mad.  Tabby is confused.  I guess we were all madly confused.  WHY aren't we being ushered back immediately?  WHY do they keep asking me who called?  WHY have I been given no information about my son??  I STILL don't know if he's even here or not because no one has confirmed that he is here, yet!

A thought occurs to me:  Mikey must be dead.  I've never been directly involved with the death of a relative in a hospital setting.  In any setting, as a matter of fact.  The nurses are being too weird with me.  They are not really looking directly at me.  They are conferring with each other in whispers; they are pointing at me; they are whispering some more.  Oh my son must be dead.

My terrible thoughts are interrupted.
"You are Mike's mom?  Who are they, his sisters?"
"How old is this one?" (She is indicating Tabby.)
"She is 13."

Information Desk nurse confers with Intake Desk nurse in hushed tones, but the girls and I can hear her, "She's only 13; should we let her go back?"

Before they are finished, April and Tabitha both turn to me and ask questions simultaneously:

"Are they saying Tabby can't go back?"
"Mom!  I'm going back, aren't I?"

But before I can answer, the two nurses make up their minds, "Well, I guess she can, the mom's here."

Good...because they would not have wanted to deal with April for sure.  I don't know what I would have done, but April was ready to fight with someone.  That would not have been pretty...there was a guard standing, it would not have been pretty;  I'm not sure for which party, though.  Glad I didn't have to find out.

So, we were all motioned to follow Intake Desk nurse to the back.  We went like little ducklings following their mamma duck.

We turned left down a white hall (everything was white back there...white and clean) and past a couple of empty beds to the right of us.  There is a room at the end of this hallway.  I'm pretty sure that is where Mikey is.  As we get to that room, we are pulled past it.

"Ok, I have to tell you something."


That's my brain screaming at me.  I KNEW something had been wrong!  I KNEW they had been acting funny up front.  My son is DEAD!  A glance inside the room shows me a body covered up with a blue sheet on a's Mikey!  I recognize the soles of his feet!  Oh My son is lying dead on that gurney in that room and this nurse is choosing to tell me this away from the people in the emergency room waiting room....oh no, oh, no, oh, no...he had sounded so alive 30 minutes ago.  His feet have dried blood on them...

The nurse is talking, "You are going to see a lot of blood in there...your son has been shot multiple times..."


My daughters are not going to put up with this tomfoolery any more.  They hear this piece of information from Nurse Obvious, and spin around and run into the room to see their brother.  I am left outside for the rest of the speech about how much blood he has lost, how much blood I am going to see, etc, etc.  Duh.  I understand what happens when a person is punctured multiple times with an object or objects coming at them at a high velocity.  Finally, she is done with her speech about that red body fluid, and I am released to go into the room.  As I walk in, another nurse comes up behind me.

"We need some information from you about your son's medical history and any possible allergies..."  Michael is conscious, he is over the age of consent, and at any other time, I would not be allowed to know about anything to do with his medical history.  And now you are going to ask me this?  I have just been on a roller coaster ride of emotions, and now you are going to get coherent information out of me?  Do you really think so?  Honestly?

"Of course," I hear myself say, "I can give you that information."

Because my brain has just flooded my body with relief.  My son is alive, and they want to know how to keep him that way during the surgery that is imminent.  Of course I am going to cooperate.  I will tell you everything you want to know, starting with how long I was in labor if you want me to go that far back.

Before I can go into any sort of detail, though, I hear, "You're wanted on the phone."  Oh, of course I can wait to give you this information.  I will wait for you to take this call.  I'll just wait for you right over here at my son's bedside - where I belong.

"The phone call is for you."  She is looking at me.  A phone call?  For me?  In the Emergency Dept of St. Francis Hospital? 


While you were robbing the donut shop on Admiral and Garnett,
          I was sleeping.

While you were running and being sought by the police,
           I was turning over and getting comfy.

When you were shooting at the police,
           My cell phone woke me up.

"Why is 21st and Garnett closed? I thought I'd call you so you could go to
                                         work another way."

 As I was searching KOTV, KJRH, and KTUL to see why 21st and Garnett was closed,
          You were cornered in my neighborhood.

 As I read about your exploits online,
          Police were closing in on you.

 As I listened to the helicopter overhead and posted on FB: "Hello Boss? I can't come to work until the police say I can: Think they'll believe me?"
          You were raising the gun to your head.

 As I looked for updates and rearranged my schedule thinking that I might not have to go to work for a while,
          You were lying dead in the street.

When I got the text from my daughter telling me that you were dead,
          I was getting in the car to drive to work.

                                21st and Garnett was open.