I just had cookies.
For breakfast. Shh. Don't tell.
I'm sleepy, and goofy, and cranky.
Saturday night, I spent the night in the ER with Ben. Sometimes, Mom's shift doesn't end just because the sun goes down. He was coughing like a madman, all my tricks weren't helping him, he started to panic; and who can blame him, breathing is important; and I was at a loss.
Nothing says love like taking off your pjs, grabbing what you hope are clean clothes, and heading to the ER in the middle of the night.
He better remember that when I tell him he can't have the keys to the car.
There we sat, amongst the empty water bottles and garbage people would rather slide back under the chairs and benches instead of throwing in the trash can 10 feet away from us, waiting, waiting, waiting....
I knew we'd be there for a while, so it's not like it was a surprise to be waiting. But it wasn't easy.
He made me chuckle, because all the lights and noise of unhappy children made him antsy. Yup, I thought, that 'tune out the crying' gene doesn't get activated until you've had a baby of your own.
We had a better time of it sitting outside. We went out, and it was quieter. But it was colder too, so we couldn't stay long.
Ben finally nodded off a bit, around 2 am or so. Right when they called us back.
I was relieved, but as they hadn't done the second triage I was expecting, was not holding out much hope that this was it.
But it was! Delirium set in as we walked toward our 'room' while I envisioned George Clooney stepping in to check out Ben, patting me on the back and winking at me while complimenting my maternal instincts. Is this sweatshirt clean? I asked myself...
We were in the room just long enough for Ben to plant his butt on the bed, when in came the dr and the registration tech. I'm answering questions to verify we are who we say we are, handing over the insurance card, while Ben is talking to the doctor.
Excuse me? He's nine. He doesn't know what time it was when I medicated him last. He doesn't know anything other than he wants to stop coughing.
Helga the tech backed off long enough for me to answer a few of the doctor's questions, he took a listen, said xray would be by shortly and pending the results, he'd give us some meds and send us home.
I think he was in the room five minutes, tops.
Ben got settled, and a nurse came in. "I know the doctor probably asked you all this already," she says, (then why are you here asking me too?), "did you get triaged out there besides when they did it right when you came in??" "No." "Of course not," she muttered under her breath. Whatever. I answer her questions, and they are pretty much the same. I hold my tongue.
Here comes the registration tech again, with my insurance card in hand. "Your card says you..." "...have a copay of fifty dollars," I interrupt. She seems relieved that I know this. "I can process that now for you if you want."
Come on, you're not surprised, are you?
"Does it mean I'll get out of here without having to stop and talk to anyone on the way out?" "Yes." I hand her the check.
We wait for the xray for about another 40 minutes or so. After she leaves, another registration tech comes into the room.
As she begins to once again verify we are who we say we are, I resist the urge to slap the clipboard out ofher hand and beat her with it. I can take no more--as she says, "you live at..." I say "I already paid my copay. Is there a reason we're going over this again?"
She is embarrassed. Apologizing all over the place, she leaves, explaining that we "weren't checked off that this step was complete." Stop apologizing and just GO AWAY, I mentally command her.
At this point, it's 3:15 am. I've lost all faith in the system, seeing that I've spent more time verifying my address than I have discussing my child's symptoms. Grrr. Write the fucking scrip already, George, I'm afraid I can't see you anymore.
We receive our prescriptions, (steroids and an inhaler), I sign on the dotted line, and we are discharged at 3:45 or so. (Yes. Ben is still coughing. But hey, his xray was clear.)
He falls asleep on the way to the pharmacy. I went to a 24-hour one close to home, I've used them before, but not in a long time, so of course, the chances of this going smoothly were slim.
So slim, I'm never going to Vegas.
"Your insurance isn't going through," the pharmacist says.
It's 4:15. I need to medicate the boy.
"Just fill it," I tell him. "You can come back on Monday and have us try to run it through again," he tells me. Great. "How long?" "Fifteen minutes, there is one ahead of you." I glance over to my sleeping boy next to me, and it doesn't move the pharmacist. "I'll be back," I sigh.
I would say I watched cars go by, but it's like someone rolled up the streets once it was midnight. Not many cars to watch. I park under a streetlight on the other side of the pharmacy, and read for fifteen minutes, patting Ben occasionally when he stirs.
We get home around 5. I have to sneak some food into him to get himhis medicine. Poor kid. He's exhausted. I'm sleepy too, and thankful Mr W is off today. I had already called in sick to work.
He was coughing still on Sunday, so bad I called his pediatrician to ask if I should worry. We went to see him yesterday, as he was still not sleeping well at all.
Which means I'm not sleeping either.
The coughing is relentless, and he's not been medicated long enough for it to abate.
I have some hope this morning, though. He's not been coughing as much.
But I'm still sleepy, and goofy, and cranky.
Which leads me to the cookies....guess I should have some milk.
~~~~~~~~~~P.S. Went to the pharmacy and they were able to get it to go through--so I got a refund. Yay!