The Boy Gets Sick, Part III

Part III

Homeward Bound

Read Part II here

With the sun not yet up, we drove around the block and entered the on-ramp to the FDR.  It was 6am Saturday morning.  Max fell asleep even before we hit the RFK Bridge (formerly known as the Triborough ).  We'd now been up a full day and we were just setting out on a 3 hour drive.  Linda took a 15 minute power snooze and I listened to the news.  I was acutely aware that I was tired and was mustering every ounce of concentration on driving safely and staying alert.  It was tiring just to focus, but I knew that the coffee rest stop wasn't far.  Traffic was light and the sun began to rise by the time we got to the first Mobil rest area on the Hutchinson River Parkway headed to Connecticut.  The coffee tasted so, so good.  It was a bolt of energy that came as much from caffeine as from the faith that I put in it. We drove quietly up the near empty Merritt Highway, all its luscious trees now bare before winter.  Linda checked on the sleeping Max every quarter hour or so.  He was sound asleep, breathing better and had no fever.  A few times he woke up, took a confused look around and went back to sleep.  His eyes rolled in his head from exhaustion.

As I drove the winding road through the tree lined corridor, I felt relieved to be out of New York and back on our way to Connecticut.  Certainly Max had been having trouble breathing, but I'd had a tight chest since we arrived at the emergency room.  I began to breathe easier, but with each easier breath, I grew weary.  I pulled into a rest stop and Linda and I switched seats.  I dozed hard for 20 minutes and all of a sudden we were at our exit, #69 on I-84.  Max was still resting comfortably and we were just 30 minutes from our doctor's office.  We pulled into the nearly vacant parking lot behind Day Kimball Hospital in Putnam, where our pediatric center is.  We made our way to the waiting room and it had never been as full as it was then.  There were a half dozen kids, but how many of them had just come from an emergency room in Manhattan?

We didn't have to wait long and soon we were in yet another examining room.  Unbelievably, Max was happy to see another doctor.  They listened to our practiced account; we gave them Max's discharge papers from Beth Israel.  They checked Max's breathing and the oxygen in his blood.  They looked in his ears and got the nebulizer ready for another Arbuterol treatment.  The doctor and nurse were fantastic.  They answered all of our questions.  They didn't mumble.  They were appropriately charmed by Max.  Max already knew what to do with the mask and settled right in.  We asked the doctor about the course of action the Beth Israel doctor had taken.  I was both relieved and disappointed.  I was relieved because our doctor thought that the ER doctor had done everything that he would have.  I was disappointed because it meant that the mumbly jerk was a competent physician.

I drove us home from the hospital and dropped off Linda and Max to get settled.  I went to a couple of drug stores to fill prescriptions and buy a home nebulizer machine.  I wasn't tired anymore, though I should have been. When I got home, Max was still awake.  And later when it came time for a nap, he only slept for 20 minutes.  His schedule was completely blown out of the water.  One moment he was going to sleep in Manhattan and the next thing he knows he's back in CT; the last thing he can remember before coming home is being in an emergency room.  That'd be strange for anyone and it must have been somewhat incomprehensible to a newly minted two year-old.

We'd all been awake for a long, long time, but we were also so overtired that it didn't matter anymore.  We passed the day playing in the living room, Linda and I alternating between the couch and time on the floor with Max.  Eventually it was time to put Max to sleep and this time he didn't fight it.  Linda and I were exhausted, but too hungry to go to sleep.  We cooked an easy dinner and talked about what a crazy day we had, or was it two days?  We were watching TV on the couch when I finally fell asleep.  Linda roused me and I immediately said, "Just give me a few minutes to get my bearings," as if that's a phrase I frequently utter.  (Though I think I'll begin answering any question that way.  Try it.  "Would you like anything in your coffee?"  "Just give me a few minutes to get my bearings.")

As I lay in bed, I began to dream, half awake and half asleep.  My eyes were closed and apropos of nothing I said to Linda, "The dessert has fruit in it."  It had been a wild few days for sure.