emer.gen.cy

emer.gen.cy  n — an unforeseen combination of circumstances or the resulting state that calls for IMMEDIATE ACTION.

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• 11:03 am — I receive a phone call at work from the nurse at my daughter’s school. My daughter is in her (the nurse’s) office complaining of pain in her (my daughter’s) side. The nurse doesn’t think it’s appendicitis, but she (the nurse) can’t be sure. Would I like to pick her (my daughter) up, or should she (the nurse) continue to monitor the situation? I tell her (the nurse) to monitor the situation and let me (me) know if the pain increases.

• 3:20 pm — My daughter gets home from school, still in pain.

• 3:45 pm — My wife and I talk on the phone. We don’t think the pain is appendicitis either, but we decide that my wife should call my daughter’s doctor, just in case.

• 4:40 pm — I arrive home to find a note on the table — “We have gone to the emergency room at the hospital on the advice of the doctor’s office. It will probably take a long time. You can come join us if you’d like.”

• 4:50 pm — I quickly change my clothes and scarf a brownie (OK, two brownies). As I’m heading out the door, I think to bring a book along — I know how hospitals can be. I’m currently reading The Complete Short Stories of Flannery O’Connor. It’s four inches thick, and the subject matter is a bit bleak for a hospital setting. I decide to find something else. I am in a hurry, so I grab my daughter’s copy of Ella Enchanted, by Gail Carson Levine, a humorous retelling of the Cinderella story. It’s short, easy to read, and thin enough to fit in my coat pocket. I take off.

• 5:00 pm — I arrive at the emergency room. My wife and daughter are sitting in the waiting room, smiling. They have been there for 45 minutes. In that time, they have signed in. And waited. They are waiting for an open room. I sit down with them and we discuss the details of the day.

• 5:05 pm — My daughter accuses us of never believing her when she says she’s not feeling well. I point out that we are — in fact — sitting in the emergency room of a hospital. She shrugs.

• 5:10 pm — A nurse calls my daughter’s name and escorts her down a hallway. My wife goes along. I do not. I figure my presence will make my daughter uncomfortable during the examination.

• 5:15 pm — I look around the waiting room. There are about 10 people there, none of them writhing in pain or bleeding profusely, that I can see. None, of them, in fact, are acting as though there is an emergency. I see two TVs in the room. The one closer to me is turned to some news channel. A few people are sitting near it, but nobody seems to be paying attention to it. The other TV, on the far side of the room, is turned off. I remember that the Cubs are playing the Dodgers at 6:05, but I figure I’ll be long gone by then.

• 5:17 — I pull out Ella Enchanted and begin reading.

• 5:20 — The people by the TV leave. I consider moving closer and changing the channel, but it’s still 45 minutes before the game starts, and I still think I’ll be watching the game at home. I go back to reading.

• 5:30 — A guy with a ponytail comes in gripping his shoulder. He sits by the TV.

• 5:37 — A man in a black T-shirt takes a chair close to mine. He’s clearly miserable, sweating and coughing. I can feel the germs swarming in my direction.

• 5:42 — A large woman sits across from me. She’s wheezing audibly. She stares at me intently. I try to concentrate on my book and ignore the noise.

• 5:50 — A kid in a baseball uniform is wheeled in, one foot bare. Black T-shirt guy is escorted down the hallway.

• 5:55 — The wheezing woman is still staring at me when a nurse helps her into a wheelchair and pushes her down the hallway.

• 5:57 — I realize that the Cubs game is about to start. I notice there’s a remote on the table by the TV. I walk across the room to the turned-off TV, thinking there might be another remote over there. There isn’t. I return to my seat and resume reading. I’m on page 90 of my book (I told you it was easy reading).

• 6:04 — Light bulb moment. I pick up the remote from in front of Ponytail guy and cross the room to try it on the turned-off TV. It works. I flip through the channels until I find the Cubs on ESPN just as the first pitch is thrown. Rick Sutcliffe, commentator on the broadcast mentions that it’s Kosuke Fukudome Bobblehead Night. (Imagine being new to the culture and turning on a TV to hear that.)

• 6:08 — Two older women sit near me. They make occasional comments about the game.

• 6:20 — Ponytail guy is escorted down the hallway.

• 6:25 — A woman sits near me, holding an ice pack to her face. She’s obviously interested in the game. Black T-shirt guy comes out and leaves the hospital.

• 6:30 — Bare foot kid has his mother wheel him over by the TV. His mother gets into a conversation with the two older women.

• 6:32 — 2nd inning – Jim Edmonds comes up with 2 outs and the bases empty. He grounds out softly to third.

• 6:45 — The two older women are escorted down the hallway.

• 6:50 — A mom comes in with two teenage boys. One of the boys discovers a third TV in a back corner and turns on the White Sox/Indians game. I can see the score from where I’m sitting and look over once in a while.

• 6:59 — 4th inning — Jim Edmonds is up with 2 outs and a runner on first.

• 7:00 — My wife comes out to say they’ve taken some blood from my daughter and are waiting on the results. When I get back, a commercial is on. I ask Ice Pack lady what happened. She tells me Edmonds flew out softly to center. I ask her what happened to her. She tells me her two-year-old broke her nose. I say something sympathetic, like “Oh, ouch.” She replies, “He’s evil.”

• 7:03 — Bare-foot kid is escorted down the hallway.

• 7:10 — Ice-pack lady is escorted down the hallway.

• 7:12 — Play-by-play man Chris Berman says that Dodger second-baseman Chin-lung Hu is the first man in the history of professional baseball with a last name only two letters long.

• 7:20 — The game is dull, so I pull out Ella Enchanted and read between pitches/innings.

• 7:25 — A teenage girl in a soccer uniform comes limping in. She sits down where she can see the TV.

• 7:28 — Ponytail guy exits the hallway and leaves the hospital.

• 7:40 — 6th inning – Jim Edmonds is up with 1 out and runners on first and second. He fouls out to the left fielder.

• 7:45 — The White Sox are losing 8-2. Teenage boy flips to the cartoon channel. Minutes later, his mother and brother come out and they leave. The TV continues to show cartoons to an empty corner of the room.

• 7:55 — A boy in a baseball uniform comes in holding his wrist.

• 8:00 — 7th inning – Jim Edmonds is up with 2 outs and runners on second and third. He flies out softly to left.

• 8:08 — Chin-lung Hu hits a single, prompting Chris Berman to say “Hu’s on first.” I’m sure he wrote that line before the game started and has been waiting all night to use it. Rick Sutcliffe attempts to play along with the joke but fails miserably.

• 8:11 — Soccer girl is escorted down the hallway. I’m on page 186 in Ella Enchanted.

• 8:35 — A mom comes in with a four-year-old son. She sits across from me and watches as he smooshes his face against the glass of an aquarium. (There are two fish in this huge aquarium, a large silver one (that swims back and forth and back and forth (and a small blue one that only shows itself when nobody is around (except me, of course. I no longer count.) The four-year-old attempts to open the doors of a cabinet. The mom tells him to come and sit down next to her. The four-year-old says “No” and returns to smooshing his face against the glass. (The blue fish is nowhere in sight.)

• 8:38 — Sore wrist boy is escorted down the hallway.

• 8:59 — Kerry Wood gets the save as the Dodger’s catcher grounds out. The Cubs win 3-1 in spite of Jim Edmonds. Kosuke Fukudome goes 2 for 3 with a walk, an RBI, and an amazing catch on his bobblehead night.

• 9:07 — I only have one chapter left in Ella Enchanted. I decide enough is enough. I ask the girl at the desk what room my daughter is in. She gives me a visitor’s sticker and opens the door to the mysterious hallway. I find my daughter and wife in room 23. My daughter is in bed wearing a hospital gown, hooked up to an i.v. (a 0.9 saline solution — because she told the doctor she hadn’t eaten much during the day). They’re watching one of those exciting house-hunting shows on HGTV (“They found one they liked, but it was at the very top of their price range and needed upgrading. They particularly didn’t care for the seashell sinks in the master bath” — photograph of seashell sinks in the master bath — “the hunt goes on.”) I ask what’s been taking so long. I find out there was a two-and-a-half hour wait between the time when they told my daughter she was going to get a cat-scan and the time when they actually remembered to give her a cat-scan. (They actually said to her, “Oh, we forgot about you.”)

• 9:15 — The doctor comes in and tells us that my daughter does not have appendicitis. She says a nurse will come in and remove the i.v.

• 9:35 — I get fed up and walk to the nurses station. I ask the nurse on duty if she could please send someone to my daughter’s room. I was very polite about it. I said, “The doctor is done with her. She just needs to have her i.v. removed. We’ve been here for over five hours and would very much like to go home.” The nurse asks me if we’ve received our release papers. I sigh and tell her that I don’t think we’ve received any papers yet. I return to the room.

• 9:40 — Amazing! The nurse from the station comes to the room with the release papers. She asks us if we have any questions. I have a lot of questions, but I decide not to ask any of them. She has me sign the papers.

• 9:43 — I step out of the room so my daughter can get dressed. I notice that the patient in the next room is a young girl in a blue soccer uniform. At least half the patients during this evening were kids in soccer or baseball uniforms. I see Ice Pack lady leaving the hospital. There are only three people in the waiting room.

• 9:45 — More amazing still! My wife and daughter walk out of the hallway and we leave the hospital.

• 9:59 — We arrive home and grab a quick supper before heading to bed.

• 10:25 — I finish reading Ella Enchanted and turn out the bedside light.

(The times are approximate. All other events are recorded as they happened.)