Exposure

Man, what a night. We went out Valentine’s Day shopping and for dinner. J-Man has a girlfriend and wanted to get her something. I discouraged him from the routine candy thing. We found a couple of nice, thoughtful, insightful gifts that weren’t too personal (her parents will not freak out because he did not get her edible underwear nor a slinky tank top and short-shorts). We had to run to Uncle Doreen’s to take her dogs for a walk and then we came home. I was all ready to get a good night’s sleep as it’s been a long, hard week.

Instead, I hear a call from Em: “Come upstairs, J-Man needs you.” I get upstairs and J-Man is having difficulty walking. He’s listing into the wall every time he tries to propel forward and has numbness in his legs.

I looked at the clock. Called his insurer to get authorized, spoke with his on-call doctor’s service, and loaded him into the car. We were off to Sutter General’s emergency room downtown. This was 10 pm.

This was our first emergency visit to a medical facility here. I didn’t know what to expect. The ER waiting area was small, but there were two empty seats. No one seemed terribly ill or injured, so I guessed we’d just have a wait. We settled in. It took two hours to be triaged and another hour to get into the ER itself.

While we waited, whether we wanted to or not, we had to listen to two women, who did not appear to know one another, regaling the entire waiting room with their tales of various women’s prisons in California and what each one was like – who they knew in common, and how long they were in for their last stretch. Both were drug users. Recovering, apparently. They didn’t really look it though. They seemed quite disheartened about all the young women coming in as “lifers.” If I hadn’t been so tired, that might have actually spurred some social justice outrage in me.

Pretty soon, a young man wearing a camouflage jacket, with a military style buzz cut, dirty jeans, and a slumping, defeated walk came in. He knew one of the women. They compared notes on his mother, who she had known in prison. Turns out that woman was back “in.” He complained of a terrible headache.

As we went into be triaged, the police came in and took him away. The triage nurse said to another nurse, “We were supposed to call when he came in and he just went with them. No problem, thank goodness. It is so busy tonight—so many walking wounded.”

We waited for our ER bed and a young Latino man came out, pants hanging down to his knees. He clothes covered in blood. He was on his way out, apparently no worse for wear.

After three hours, J-Man had a bed. The nurse came in. She spoke to J-Man in kind, gentle tones. She was not irritated by what appeared on the outside to be nothing too serious. She said it would be a while and we waited. I covered J-Man with his sheet and he went to sleep. I paced. Two hours later the doctor who was professional, kind, and compassionate, talked to J-Man and me about his symptoms and history. When he was 3, he was paralyzed from the chest down by Guillain-Barre. That was what was of concern to the doctor – the similar symptoms.

J-Man was released with instructions from the doctor for me to observe his legs and the numbness for the next four days. If it happens again, he goes back. If not, he just gets a follow-up with his pediatrician.

We rode home tired—but me, with some relief that his symptoms had abated and maybe he was off the hook. J-Man got an education in the street life downtown in Sacramento last night and I don’t think he much cared for what he saw. I’m sure those women had no idea that they had provided him yet another “Just Say No” moment.