Page 28 of The Curveball
12
SAGE
I’m backin my happy place, run off my feet, caring for patients in the emergency department. Okay, so my happy place is most people’s version of hell, but still.
It’s a relief to be working. The hospital is so desperate for staff, they’re more than happy to have me full time until I go on maternity leave.
And Brady is another, albeit more surprising, source of relief. He’s been kind, caring, and considerate of my space, but also attentive. As promised, he’s texted daily to check in, occasionally sending funny pregnancy memes. He found a website that measures the size of the fetus using different random items, and sends me updates using that.
His favourite is apparently the fruit and vegetable size chart. It’s kind of adorable.
“Sage, new peds patient coming in. Asthma exacerbation.” My charge nurse Roberto gives me a look. “Parents are both here, but not exactly on the same team, ifyou get what I’m saying. They’ve already been told by triage to keep their voices down.”
I nod at him. “Got it.”
Arguing parents. Fun.
That was, I suppose, the one benefit to my bio dad wanting nothing to do with me. Mom never had to fight for what was best for me, at least not with someone else trying to parent me.
Sure enough, the second my eight-year-old patient is shown into the room, the parents start talking over each other, trying to explain what happened.
I hold up both hands to shut them up. “Let’s talk one at a time please, while I get Molly hooked up to some monitors and hopefully get her feeling more comfortable.” I make quick work of attaching an oximeter to her finger and listening to her chest, trying to tune out the grumbling mutters between the parents. There’s a lot of noise in the girl’s lungs, and not the good kind. I try to give her a reassuring smile as I glance at the monitor, but when I see her oxygen saturation level is only ninety-one percent, I know it’s time to act.
“Alright honey, let’s slide this oxygen into your nose, and I’m going to get you some medicine to help you breathe.”
I turn to the parents. “Do either of you have her inhalers with you?”
“No, that’s the whole freaking problem! He forgot her inhaler at home and took her to the park,” the mother spits out, glaring at her husband. “You know her asthma gets triggered by activity, especially when it’s cold out. How the hell did you forget?”
“One time, Susan. One time I forget, and she has an attack, and you’re acting like I did it on purpose!”
“You might as well have, look at what happened! My God, could you be more careless? She’s your daughter. I just?—”
“Okay,” I interrupt before things can escalate. “What does she use for a rescue inhaler?”
As soon as I have confirmation that it’s the regular medication we dispense in the ER, I run to get it. When I return, Molly’s parents are still arguing. I administer the medicine, both an oral steroid and inhaler, and monitor her vitals while watching her face. She’s staring down at the gurney, picking at the stiff white sheet. My heart breaks for her, having to sit here, sick, and listen to her parents bicker like this.
Not that I blame her mom. I’d be pretty pissed too if my kid’s father forgot something as important as an inhaler. Asthma is no joke, and a kid Molly’s age can’t be expected to be responsible for remembering it all the time.
At least they got her here in time. The medication is already helping, as the monitor shows her oxygen levels are slightly higher. It’s a good sign, but she’s not out of the woods. I’ll be monitoring her closely for a while to see if she needs more treatment.
As soon as I’m satisfied she’s stable, I turn to face her parents. “The medicine will help open her airways and hopefully get her breathing under control. If you need to have any further discussion about what happened, I’ll respectfully ask that you take it outside. Molly needs to rest.”
“I’m not leaving my daughter.” Molly’s mother glares at her father.
“I’ll go,” he says, his voice clipped. “Molls, I’m sorry. Hope you feel better soon, kid.” He leans over and gives his daughter a quick hug before leaving the room.
As soon as he’s gone, the mom sinks down in a chair. “God, honey, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Molly’s little voice says, breathless but clear. “I shouldn’t have run so fast.”
Her mom leans forward and grasps her daughter’s hands, her eyes shining with tears. “No, baby, you did nothing wrong. You’re allowed to have fun and run with your friends. Your dad and I are the ones who should make sure we have what you need to be healthy.”
“I’ll just be at the desk if you need anything, but Molly really should try to rest,” I say softly, touching the older woman’s shoulder. I slip out of the room and exhale.
Would Brady remember an inhaler if our kid needed one? Would he respond to their cries and give them comfort, or would he get annoyed and ignore them? Would he keep them safe, make sure they’re loved, and not leave their side when they’re sick or in pain?
I couldn’t imagine walking away from my child when they’re in a hospital bed like Molly’s father did.
