Maggie

Posted On April 12, 2020

Things are not great here. Still, there’s something about waking up on Easter morning that makes a person feel renewed. Like people all over the world, we are celebrating with our immediate family only, minus Scott. Greg and I have spent the morning preparing an Easter meal unsure of when we will eat it. There was a debate about the ham and whether to glaze or not to glaze. Glazed won, with it only occurring to me now that we could have glazed only half of it and had both. Obviously neither one of us is as smart as we think.

Last year the food was ready for 5 hours before Tate was awake and well enough to join us. Both the grandmas were here, and the two hours Tate was able to spend with us that day were precious. We are in no hurry again this year, but we’re ready as soon as Tate is. At some point Greg and I will deliver food and a hodgepodge Easter basket to his apartment. Scott does this dumb thing every Easter where he shuns Robin Eggs, Peeps, and chocolate bunnies for organic vegan protein powder and soy milk. This is not how we raised him. Ha ha.

Tate’s appointment Wednesday was long and stressful, and the lingering aftereffects are still stressing us out.

The 2nd Floor waiting area at the Phoenix Children’s Hospital was nearly empty. One adult per patient was permitted to enter, and everyone sat far away from each other. We knew Tate would have to exit the hospital in a wheelchair since he would be put under general anesthesia for his spinal tap, so we brought his from home. We figured it would have fewer germs than the hospital wheelchairs, and it would also give him a safe place to sit while he waited. Those waiting room chairs are used A LOT, and I’m sorry PCH, they’re grimy.

Tate’s appointment was scheduled for 9:45am with a 9:15am check-in time. I called the morning of the appointment to confirm the time, and the day before a nurse called me to confirm the same thing. When we arrived, a nurse told us we were “early as sin” since Tate’s appointment wasn’t until 12:00 and that they don’t even have an anesthesiologist available until 11:00. We waited in a little exam room for more than two hours before Tate was taken to the procedure room. It was miserable.

At 11:59, Tate was taken to the procedure room for his lumbar puncture and intrathecal Methotrexate. The Nurse Practitioner came into the room briefly to introduce herself, and she was NOT having a good day. She said things like “This has been such a long week already and it’s only Wednesday” and “It feels like this day should be over already.” I get that her job is difficult beyond my comprehension, but I am the parent of a patient, not a confidant. It seemed unprofessional, and releasing my child into her care had my instincts screaming. But as with so many things in my life, this too was out of my control. I smiled at Tate and told him I’d be there when he woke up.

Thirty minutes later, yet another nurse brought me to the recovery room as Tate was waking up. He was loopy and a little silly, and by then very hungry because he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since 8:00 the night before. He had some Sprite and goldfish crackers the recovery nurse offered him, and then we heard the patient in the next room coughing. Tate dropped his snack and pulled his mask on. Hungry or not, he didn’t want to catch whatever was flying around on the other side of that curtain. It was a big, wet cough that racked the kiddo’s whole body. I looked at Tate’s nurse and said, “That’s a really big cough.” She dropped her sunshiny demeanor, her eyes narrowed, and she said, “That patient has no business being here right now.” Somehow I appreciated her lack of decorum but resented the Nurse Practitioner’s earlier. (Evidently I can only accept medical professionals having sincere human moments when I feel it’s in Tate’s best interest.) The coughing patient’s nurse brought his dad into his recovery room and confronted him about the cough. The dad said, “No, no, no. He’s not sick, he’s fine. You’re okay, aren’t you buddy?” He rode his lie out to the end. After all the precautions Phoenix Children’s Hospital put into place to protect the staff and patients, a parent that couldn’t see past his own child’s needs did everything he could to make sure he got treatment. Were I in his shoes, I don’t know that I wouldn’t have done the same thing. Would I have been able to tell the truth knowing we may have been turned away from life-saving treatment for Tate? I hope I would be able to see beyond my own family’s immediate needs, but I don’t think love works that way.

Tate woke up Thursday morning with his back hurting so bad he couldn’t walk. He had no fever and there was no redness around the injection site, so it wasn’t considered an emergency. I talked to Tate’s nurse Michelle a twice that day, and she said to give him Tylenol for the pain and to try to get him up and moving the next day. The Tylenol helped, but it’s three days later, and Tate’s back still really hurts. What I told Michelle and still believe to be possible is that the nurse practitioner that did his lumbar puncture was having a bad day and hurt him. It’s a big accusation, and I can’t prove it, and I hope I’m wrong, but I am struggling to come up with other explanations. Tate has had many LPs over the last two years, and this is the only time his body has reacted this way.

In this strange time, when we’re together in our alone-ness and trying to protect and comfort our loved ones near and far, our pets seem more devoted to us than ever. They never get tired of our company, our worn out stories, or our messy hair and yoga pants. Yesterday Greg’s mom and her husband Mark had to say good-bye to their lasagna-loving, birthday cake-eating dog Maggie, aka the Wheaten Terrorist. To paraphrase Mark, she had a bit of the imp in her but was also loyal and loving.

We are blessed to have been shown so much love. Sitting here on what seems like a very lonely Easter on the surface, I am overcome with gratitude. Neighbors help us with anything we need, my friend Stacey delivered Easter candy so I could fill a basket for Tate and champagne so we could have mimosas, my sister sent N-95 masks and cleaning supplies, and my friend Janenne sent us a cornucopia of vegetables from Sprouts. Most people understand why I’m not answering the door and just call me so we can talk through the window. The few that don’t understand stand there until I can put on a mask before opening the door and shooing them away.

Happy Easter to you and yours! However you celebrate and whoever you’re celebrating with, we hope it’s a good day for you. I’ll be engaging in some of Maggie’s more notorious behaviors; when no one’s looking I’m going to sneak treats and sip cocktails.

S.