Why going to the emergency room prompts difficult memories
ER trips are uncommon for this columnist, but they're always a bit emotional
I don’t get sick often. If I feel somewhat draggy, echinacea tea usually works like a charm.
When our first two children, Matthew and Katie, were born, exhaustion prevailed. I was mothering and teaching kindergarteners with orthopedic and other conditions, and I was married to a high school football coach. But I didn’t get sick.
Our third baby, Jeffrey, was diagnosed with SMA type 1 at 2 months old. SMA’s wrath kicked in immediately; before we blinked too many times, hospice was summoned by our home healthcare nurse to guide us to the finish line.
At the initial hospice meeting at our house, one worker asked who my backup would be when I got sick.
Me: “I won’t get sick.”
Hospice: “You probably will. Who will be your backup?”
Me: “I won’t get sick.”
To appease them, I designated Mom as my backup. I didn’t get sick.
When I do get sick, though, I don’t mess around.
An appendix, a bee sting, and blood-test memories
In mid-1985, my husband, Randy, and I drove from our native Fort Worth, Texas, to Columbia, South Carolina, to find a house before we relocated. Shortly after our arrival, we began searching with our real estate agent. But it wasn’t long before trouble ensued — with me.
Experiencing what I thought was food poisoning, I was flabbergasted to learn at urgent care that I needed to immediately go to the emergency room. The surgeon explained that I’d have a night of heavy-duty antibiotics before exploratory surgery. The culprit turned out to be the remnants of my appendix, which had to be scooped out (“worst ever,” to my credit).
Fast forward to a bee sting in 2019. I’m pretty sure I was merely in the path of one of our forager bees on her way to the field across the road when her stinger pierced my forehead. I foolishly finished lugging the bag of mulch to the porch before going inside to remove the stinger. By then, a hefty amount of venom had pulsated into my head, and I found myself breaking out in a rash all over my body. Not a good sign.
Matthew was available to take me to the emergency room. At the desk, all I uttered was, “I was stung by a bee.” I was whisked to a room and pumped with epinephrine.
The resulting unnerving shaking spell sparked a haunting memory. At Brenner Children’s Hospital in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, Jeffrey underwent several grueling tests to confirm his SMA. I was thankful that the muscle biopsy had been replaced with a new blood test. Then the nurses, who hadn’t heard of SMA, realized that the only place to draw a sufficient amount of blood was Jeffrey’s forehead.
The first attempt failed, and Jeffrey’s face turned gray, then white. The nurses gently tried another spot on his forehead, relieved to see precious drops of blood dripping into the tube and praying that whatever blood they collected would be sufficient.
Twenty-seven years later, I can still visualize the band tied on Jeffrey’s head and the pained looks on the nurses’ faces. I can still hear Jeffrey’s agonizing sobs … and my own.
A routine medication and a hallucination
A couple of years ago, I tried a popular over-the-counter medication for a minor, albeit annoying, situation. I took two doses. Late that night, as I worked, I remembered that I needed to take a third dose, so I did. As soon as I swallowed it, I vaguely remembered having already taken the third dose. If I had, I’d just taken too much.
In the morning, my alarmingly swollen tongue suggested the likely answer. Randy carted me to the emergency room, where I was promptly injected with all kinds of medications, including one that induced a wild hallucination.
I wondered if morphine had generated hallucinations for Jeffrey during his final few weeks. If so, what had he thought?
An(other) ER trip and an X-ray memory
August ended eventfully. After submitting my previous column late at night, I was suddenly freezing and shaking uncontrollably. I slept fine. The next night, my arms, legs, and left hand were eerily weak. Again, I felt fine after sleeping some more.
It became obvious that I was entertaining my first-ever kidney infection on top of who knows what else, so Randy drove me to the emergency room. After the requisite blood and urine tests, I was wheeled to the imaging department for an abdominal scan.
The instructions to “hold your arms above your head as straight as possible” unleashed memories of Jeffrey’s chest X-ray, the first excruciating test he endured during his diagnosis hospital stay. His tiny arms were strapped straight above his head on a narrow board, and he wailed for the first time ever. My own tears may have been quieter, but they were profuse.
Back in the present, IV antibiotics for a wicked infection that had spread to my blood jump-started my recovery.
I’m keeping echinacea tea at the ready, hoping the Drama Queen crown has a chance to get really dusty.
Note: SMA News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of SMA News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to spinal muscular atrophy.
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