The Man came down stairs last night and announced he thought we should bring The Boy to the CHEO (Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario.) I told him he was insane because, well there had been upteen reports that ERs were overflowing with flu cases, and honestly, by the time we saw someone it would be morning...
He let it go then he came back. "I really think we should bring him in." Sigh. Ok. "Did you know where D. is tonight?" D. is a nurse, works at in the ER at CHEO and is married to the Man's brother. (Which would make her my SiL.) "Ummm... no." I text. D. calls me, I tell her I don't think it's that bad, but The Boy is wheezing and complaining of chest pain. She just got off work and said ER's not so bad tonight. Btu she'll call the ER to see if it's gotten stupid and give them a heads up. Turns out the wait is about an hour... why don't we head in... ok...
At triage we learn that The Boy is breathing like a 80 year old man with COPD. "The nurse looks over his chart again. He's only 8?" Yes. He's big... a great big guy who is breathing like an 80 year old with emphysema. "Three doses of ventolin should get him feeling much better." They let him pick exam the exam room (3,5 or 8) -- they put him in 3. (It's not busy -- no word of a lie) and hook him up to a ventolin mask immediately. Le sigh -- The Man was right. Bad mothers line up behind me.
Dr. Don comes in... you know it's bad when you get to see the resident with 15 minutes of arriving. Doc is so young, I am pretty sure I could be his mother. (Also he could be on Gray's Anatomy, I am already a bad mother -- I can be a cougar too.) Still, he seems competent and concerned, ask the same questions, it feels like we've answered 100 times. When did it start... why did you come in now... worried, he is clearly worried... but he's acting cool. But he's worried. He'll be back when the ventolin treatment is over. Ok. Every thing will be alright.
The Boy is handling this like a trooper. He's wearing the oxygen mask... he's breathing... I am 90 per cent sure they can smell the booze from supper on my breath
I like that the staff keep telling me when they'll be back. Unlike the time The Man end up in the ER with chest pain and confessed to smoking weed... use of illegal substances does not make you popular with the medical profession.
As the treatment goes on, The Boy's colour improves, he starts to yammer. They remove the mask. We have to sit for two hours, just in case. We try to sleep... but there are babies crying (Francine tells him it's a symphony of voices --he doesn't buy it.) Dr. Don comes in and "Hey, he's look great" and flashes a great big smile.
Much activity on the ward. The Boy gives up on sleep, and takes up chess on The Man's iPhone. We get prescriptions for puffers, and steroids, and an order to call our family doc for allergy testing. He thinks that in cleaning the dust my have triggered the attack. We get the marching orders. The Nurse whose name I didn't get but is uber sweet, explains about the puffers and the chambers... why it's important to use them. She asks about the iPhone.
He's got asthma, and I think it's one hell of a creative way for the child to get out of his chores.. say what you will about Canadian health care, the system does urgent care well. Tonight it worked for us. And all it cost was $13 for parking. Now, to call the dr.'s office and set up allergy testing.
A huge thanks to Sally, Francine (and the triage nurses whose names I didn't get) and Dr. Don to kind folks at CHEO... Ottawa's a better place because of you guys, and my little man can breath again.
