The ER

For some reason that I don't recall now, Mark and I got to talking about what happened in the ER. Maybe Andrew was more on my mind because I saw an ambulance today with its lights flashing. No sirens though. Whenever I see ambulances with their lights on I usually have to swallow hard because I immediately think of Andrew. How he rode to the hospital that Thursday afternoon all by himself,  surrounded by strangers, as he struggled to stay alive. All because the police had to question Mark about the incidents surrounding the accident. Th inhumanity. The insensitivity.

My little special rode in an ambulance that had its lights and sirens going.

It was a life and death matter.

I cried as I told Mark that they worked on Andrew for 40 minutes non-stop. That it didn't occur to me at the time that his heart had stopped. They had no pulse when I first arrived in the ER.

I remember asking them, "what do you mean he doesn't have a pulse?" It was like I couldn't think. That usually meant that a person was dead. But that couldn't be happening with my little special. No. My mind was racing so fast I honestly couldn't tell you what I was thinking.

Mark started crying too. I cried more as I finally felt the sorrow and fear and pain I felt at that time that I suppressed at the moment to be strong for Andrew.

I was afraid. Afraid that my son was dead. Afraid that my son would die. Afraid of the pain I would feel over such a loss. Afraid of how to face life without my son. Afraid of how hard life could possibly be. Afraid he was  hurting.

And I hurt for him.

They were poking him with needles left and right once they got the vent back in and found his pulse. And I wanted to cry because I imagined that he might be feeling the pain. He might be aware that he was lying there all vulnerable and they were sticking him in his arms and legs and chest and neck trying to find a line. And then they couldn't get the lines to stay. And they just kept poking him. And I couldn't tell t hem to stop. I knew it was needed. But I didn't want him to hurt. I was so afraid he was hurting. In pain and I couldn't hold him to comfort him. I was only allowed to touch his shoulder.

Well, except for a few minutes where they were focusing on his legs and other things. I looked at his arm and longed with everything in me to hold him. To hold his little hand like I always did. So purposefully I gently stroked his arm and put my finger in his hand. And I knelt down to whisper in his ear how much I loved him and that he was doing so good.

I tried not to think too much as the doctor drilled into Andrew's leg. The nurse assigned to me explained that this was a technique used on babies to get IV fluids or medicines into their bodies. Their bones are so spongy that they are able to be punctured by a needle.

My lips quivered and tears welled up in my eyes as I saw the needle pop back out of the wound and saw its size.

"It really doesn't hurt as much as you think. It's just like a needle prick to us." The nurse told me reading my mind.

Somehow I struggled with believing that. And wanted to take away his pain. Take his place. Have him wake up and be all better.

"There were so many people, Mark. So much going on. And everyone is talking about all this technical medical language." I paused to wipe my nose and look at the dining room table. Then I continued. "So many people were pulling for him. The people at the desk, nurses, doctors, everyone was looking in the room with the same look. They were all concerned for him. Praying he would be okay. From what I heard even the president of the hospital heard about him and was concerned."

Oh gosh does my heart hurt right now. Oh.........................I hope he didn't feel much pain.

Gosh do I hate this pain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gosh do I miss my son!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!