The Emergency Room

 

The Emergency Room

            There were a few things I noticed as we entered the ER.  First was that there were a lot of people back there.  When we got to his room, there were two women in there.  JohnDeere was wearing a neck brace and had several wires coming off of him to a monitor.  The room reeked of vomit as I noticed his bag of clothes, along with his boots, sitting in the corner.

            I went to his bedside when the women left, but I didn’t know what to say.  I just touched his arm and told him I was there and I loved him.

            Soon a doctor came in and told us that he had three skull fractures and that other doctors would be in to check him otherwise.  The phrase “he will probably get worse before he gets better” still rings in my head as they mentioned swelling and the possibility of having to drill a hole in his head to relieve the pressure.

            While we were waiting, I was comforted by the fact that he could horizontally spit a “loogie” into a plastic tray with normal force–it was then that I was sure he’d be ok!–or at least I was less worried.

            A trauma doctor looked him over next and said they he had no neck or spinal injuries–he had minimal scrapes–on his elbow, shoulder, and back–but as far as trauma was concerned he was ok.  Next, a neuro-surgeon would talk with us.

            The neuro-surgeon–Dr. Kachman, came to discuss his CT results with us.  He said that JohnDeere had three skull fractures, but only minor contusions and very minimal swelling.  They would be moving him to neuro-ICU and ordering a second CT scan for later in the morning.  The doctor said if it didn’t get worse, he was probably going to not need any surgery, but if he had swelling/pressure build up, that they would have to put a pressure gauge (he called it something different) into his skull–to monitor swelling and help administer medicine.  I hoped that didn’t have to happen. 

            While we waited, I could hardly stand the smell, so I reported to our friends in the waiting room often.  At one point all of our friends left and my mom came back to the room.  She says it was really hard to see big, strong JohnDeere just lying there like a blob of jelly.

            His speech was muffled and confused; he asked if he could “flip his wager” and said “Junior and Jim.”  At another point he said he “wished he could yell ‘bathroom’–why can’t I yell?”  It was then I realized he had to go to the restroom–and fearing they would give he a catheter, I informed an ER nurse.            She brought him a plastic urinal. She asked if I thought he would be more comfortable if I helped him–I told her that I wouldn’t be very comfortable. . .so My mother-in-law and I stepped out of the room.  A minute later the nurse came out claiming a false alarm–I guess he got nervous!

            His bed seemed so small and uncomfortable as the bars cut into his biceps, but it wasn’t long before he was moved to a new room and I followed him there.  The entire evening he had been fighting a neck brace, and after an adjustment from an ER nurse–and a warning from me that it was as comfortable as it could be: “Don’t move!”  He still asked the nurses, while being transported, if he had to wear that thing on his neck.  I heard them say “yes” in unison as they took him to his room and directed me to a lounge area.  They said it would take awhile to get him situated and they would let me know when he was set.