What a New Year ...
groggy and nearly passed out

Robyn’s Hood
By Robyn McCloskey

On New Year’s Day, my husband and I got to enjoy that most rare of opportunities when you are married and have three kids . . . we got to sleep in!
Our two teenagers slept over at friends’ houses and our youngest woke up early to head downstairs and quietly play with her Christmas loot.
It wasn’t until later that morning that all of this peacefulness was disturbed by a phone call from our oldest daughter, Mallory. She was crying into the phone while I tried to decipher between sobs what she was saying. Something about "falling on ice," "hurt foot" and "broken bone" was all I could make out.
She was about an hour from home. So being the good mom I like to think I am, I sat and worried the entire time until she and her friend pulled into the driveway. Her dad quickly helped her into our van and I drove her straight to the emergency room.
She’d calmed down by this point, but she still was in obvious pain. When we got to the ER, she hobbled inside while I parked the car. About an hour later they finally called her name. As we settled into our little ER cubby, Mal was stretched out on the gurney, writhing in pain. I sat in the only available chair and tried to comfort my baby.
Since I had had the pleasure of sleeping through the breakfast hour only to spend the rest of the morning worrying and waiting for Mallory to get home, I did something I rarely do . . . I forgot to eat. Which, I can assure you, is an even rarer occurrence for me than sleeping in.
Unfortunately, it’s also a dangerous occurrence. If I don’t eat I have this tendency to pass out. While we waited for a doctor to arrive, I began feeling a little lightheaded, then a lot lightheaded.
Mal looked at me from her gurney.
"Mom, are you OK? You don’t look so good?"
"Actually, honey, I’m not feeling so good. I think I need to lie down."
My dear daughter hobbled off the gurney and I hobbled on. I am now lying on the table, barely conscious, and she is sitting in the hard plastic chair, searching for a place to elevate her foot. This is when a nurse finally enters the room toting a blood-pressure monitor.
Assessing the situation, she wheeled the machine over to me, gently patted me on the arm and whispered in a very reassuring, nurse-like fashion that she was taking my blood pressure.
Since I was semi-comatose, Mallory had to take over, informing the nurse that she was the patient and the white-as-a-sheet lady almost unconscious on the bed was her mother.
My understanding is that the nurse was very skeptical until I managed to come to just enough to confirm Mal’s story. The nurse reluctantly took Mallory’s blood pressure and sent her to X-ray. Afterward she was wheeled back to our room, where I still lay, completely colorless.
"Mom, do you need me to get you anything?"
"Oh no, honey, I’ll be fine," I somehow muttered, "but I wouldn’t turn down a saltine or some ginger ale."
Mallory hopped on her good foot and made it to the vending machine. She saw a sign — but it wasn’t good.
Out of order.
So she asked the lady at the front desk to direct her to the cafeteria. No can do, the lady told Mallory. She was now considered a patient and therefore unable to leave the area without a doctor’s OK.
That’s when a compassionate nurse overheard the exchange and realized what was going on. She reached into her own lunch, pulled out an apple and said, "Here, give this to your mom."
Mal limped back on her good foot and handed me the apple, which I ate voraciously, the antidote that slowly returned the color to my face. As my consciousness returned as well, I profusely thanked this most benevolent hospital worker.
Of course, this would not have been how I would have chosen to spend the first day of the new year, but I’d have to say it could have been worse. Turned out that Mal only broke her big toe and would heal in no time. And I got to appreciate the selflessness of a teenager in my own family, and we both got to appreciate the selflessness of a complete stranger.
All in all, not such a bad way to welcome 2008. ••
Robyn McCloskey’s column appears each week in the Northeast Times. She can be reached at crmccloskey@verizon.net