The Irony

Does it make any sense to you at all that on many days, tiny me was "in charge" of our tiny ER? Me neither. But there I was in the diminutive (2 exam tables!) room across from the hospital kitchen and next door to the Morgue. Dr. Andy Nowakowski was the official Elgin Police Department Physician, so accidents, crimes, DOA's, etc. were supposedly sent to (125 bed) St. Jo's instead of to the newer, bigger Sherman Hospital a few blocks away.  Hmmm.  

At any rate, when I was there, always by myself, if someone came in (no advance notice back then- no cell phones, etc.-  ambulance or walk in, there would just suddenly be people showing up at the door), well there I was! Just me. Can you imagine how reassuring it would be to rush into a hospital ER in sheer desperation, only to be met by a 13 year old volunteer who would get you on an examining table? So I would immediately call up to the 4th floor Surgery Department, and a Resident Dr. accompanied by a Surgical Nurse would jump on the somewhat rickety service elevator and appear a few minutes later to save the day. Or at least try to. 

To pass the time in between these pressing emergencies to deal with, I would assemble surgical trays for the sterilizer. Some days were slow. Some days anything but.

Somehow I never reacted emotionally. I got used to different situations and was always able to be calm regardless of the degree of injury. Until that one day. They brought a baby in from an auto accident. This was an age of no seat belts, no car seats, not much in the way of accident prevention; but according to my perception there was a heck of a lot less traffic, less idiots on the road, at least that's how I remember it.  Your mileage may vary. 

So I had them put the baby on the exam table while we waited for the Dr. and Nurse to appear. And as soon as they did, I bolted from the room. The one and only time I ever did. That tiny little nose had been severed and was only attached by a tiny flap, and it seemed unbearable to me that this vulnerable itty bitty human had to suffer like that. I couldn't take it. I had to leave.

I'm sure there were many people that came to that room in greater agony than that little soul, but for some reason, it just hit me harder than anything else had. Perhaps because most patients were adults. Ironically, 10 years later I would find myself, arms loaded with a laundry basket full of wet clothes to hang in the sunshine, swinging open the back door of my house, and knocking my own 18 month old baby boy off the porch, thus severing his nose. The Dr. who was stitching him up told my husband that he was way more concerned with me than the baby because I was so unhinged. Life is weird, no? So sorry, Adam.