A plastic surgeon was called in to see her and gave instructions
to the nurse regards bathing and dressing the wound and gave us an appointment
for follow-up in two days, at which point they would do a skin graft.
We had arrived in the emergency room at 8:30pm and finally left
at 5:30am. The care was attentive and thorough and Mom was grateful and said so
to each person who helped her. But as the hours wore on her patience wore out.
She just wanted to go home and became increasingly frustrated. She had never
had stitches in her life and was frightened. Add to that the fact that the
doctor could not properly “freeze” the compromised leg and said that she would
certainly feel the sutures as they were administered, which sadly she did. She
was a trouper though, squeezing my hand and bearing up the best she could. When
she cried or called out, she would apologize to the doctor who told her, “Mrs.
McGrath you have every reason to express your pain and many people could not
bear up what you are going through, so yell away.” Bless his heart.
After she was stitched, they came to transfer her to another
part of the emergency department as this one was closing down given the
lateness of the hour and the fairly slow night in the waiting room. The orderly who was wheeling her received an
emergency call. He started to run down the hall and, turning to me over his
shoulder, said, "Stay with your Mom, I will be right back." In
seconds he came running back towards us toting a large white cooler marked “Human
Blood” and ran through the large heavy doors right in front of us marked
“Trauma”.
Strangely enough I had not even noticed we were in front of the
trauma ward as I had been chatting with Mom, trying to keep her mind off the
stitches, the possible infection, and her mounting panic around the even slight
possibility that she should wind up back in the hospital for an extended stay
as she had done in November.
Suddenly the trauma doors swung open and my heart jumped into my
mouth. There were people on stretchers, blood everywhere, police rushing about,
doctors suiting up, nurses running in, voices calling out and the flash of
metal, sharp against the bright overhead lights. My mouth was dry and open, my
eyes wide. My heart was beating like it wanted to escape me. Suddenly a nurse,
shocked that we were standing there, pulled a bloody gloved hand across a
curtain. All that was left were the sounds. Sounds like I had never heard in my
life. And it seemed ... well, it seemed
like TV. I had never been that close to anything like that and I was
overwhelmed with the reality of it.
As our orderly returned, rushing us away from what we should not
have seen, I sputtered out, "Is ...
everyone ... okay?” He said with sadness, "It's not good.” “Was it a car
accident?” “Yes ... it’s bad." As we rounded the corner, I began to wonder
if I had even seen what I know I had seen. It happened so fast. Maybe it wasn't
real. After all I had horrible insomnia the night before and after all it was
well after 2am at this point and I was punchy. But I was reminded that it was
all too real as people were still running by us towards the trauma room and I
could still hear the ching of their
I.D. tags which were opening the heavy doors, admitting them to that horrific
scene.
As we walked quickly on, the pounding in my ears was abating and
it was just starting to seem like a bad dream when we came upon the
"Family Quiet Room", which was filled with crying frantic family and
friends who were waiting for word about the accident.
The accident that was bad.
They were waiting to find out about their loved ones who were
receiving all that care from the people with the chinging I.D. tags. They were waiting and praying for good news
from the event our orderly had described
as...
It doesn’t look good.
We walked by them in what seemed like slow-motion, offering weak
smiles and glances of hope. Some of them looked back and my eyes locked with
their visible panic. As our silence thickened, our orderly Gregory stopped
abruptly and turned to us. He looked my Mom in the face, smiled a broad smile
and said, “Mrs. McGrath, aren’t you lucky!” My mother, kind of shocked by this
odd chirpy statement amidst this scene, faltered a little but said, “Yes ... yes,
I am ... I know I am.” He continued, “I work here every day and I see all sorts
of horrible things. But what stays with me is the kindness, the humanness. I
don’t know exactly what is going to happen to the people in that room, but I
know they are receiving the strength of skill and the best of the human spirit
and that is all any of us can do. That is why we are here, Mrs. McGrath. You
are here having your own trauma and I am not belittling that one bit. But you
are here with your daughter who loves you and who you love. Terrible things
happen. But it’s love. To love and be loved and to know it. That is what I am
grateful for every day I wake up, every day I get to work here, and every night
I lay my head on the pillow.”
He wheeled us into my Mom’s E.R. room, “You are lucky. Good luck,
Mrs. McGrath,” and he left.
All the way home that morning I thought of those people we had
seen. I don’t know what happened to them and I pray that they pulled
through. But thanks to Gregory I was
reminded that they were loved. That they too were lucky.
Barbara: What a story, Deb. My heart was pounding the whole time
I was reading it. We haven’t had a chance yet to talk about that night with any
real detail and I thank you for sharing this.
There’s nothing so soul-shifting as sudden accident. How
everyone is forced to stop in their tracks and cling to the pulsing heart of
things, which is the heart of everything: love love love. My heart goes out to
those people and the shock they faced that awful night and must probably
continue to face now. I also hope and wish for a healthy recovery for your dear
Mom, Deb. Love.
