It seems like every day usually starts out pretty normal. Somehow or another, today turned into a not so normal day. A day like any other, I was contentedly busy at work; happy to be back and making money. I picked up Taylor at Darina's and we made our way to the commissary for a few items. We weren't very far in, the produce section - when I saw it. It looked like something floating around in her eye. From the looks of it, my best guess was she'd been eating a cracker and somehow managed to put some already chewed mush of it into her eye. At least, that was what it looked like. But it was a big chunk, so I took her right away to the bathroom and tried to wash it out. We made it halfway around the store when the white mush that had seemed a relatively cohesive mass started to turn booger like and was oozing out of her eye. It was also stuck in her eyelashes. Abandoning our cart, we went back to the bathroom for some more eye washing. Satisfied that I would have to perform a more thorough surgery at home, we continued on to the bread aisle. By the time we'd lapped the market and reached the final destination dairy section, her eye was swollen and looked like someone had punched her.
I resolved to possibly go to the emergency room if the condition of it didn't improve.
By the time we'd gotten home, it was swollen almost shut and starting to ooze an extremely sticky yellow booger like substance. It was super gross. And I was praying that it wasn't pink eye. I really can't afford more time off.
I did a thorough eye washing, much to the chagrin and visible discomfort of my little patient. Nothing improved. In fact, it oozed and gooked even more. It was getting really red. I couldn't take it anymore, and off to the emergency room we went.
Sitting in the waiting room, after a relatively quick triage, I noted the fullness of the chairs. People were wearing masks, kids were squirming and whining uncomfortably. It seemed as though most of the patients, although I knew that they were military and military families, were homeless people off of the street. Everyone, even the parents of the sick kids, looked terrible. I hoped I didn't ooze white trash like the other people in the room. (I feel so much better getting that out. I know it's wrong to judge; but it was fifty degrees outside and the finest example of my analysis was wearing short athletic shorts and had faded (now) bluish tattoos in random locations on her legs. One was a huge set of baby footprints plastered randomly across the side and front of her thighs. The idea was good, but it definitely fell short in execution. And she wasn't thin enough to look good in the shorts, either. She was kind of blockish and manish. It was super gross.)
The same lovely people I speak of previously were talking about the hours they'd waited. I settled in for a long wait. Taylor's eye was gooking uncontrollably, despite all my efforts to wipe it. It seemed painful for her for me to touch it, so I tried to wipe when it was least expected. She chirped at everyone who walked by, or was sitting near us, "Hieee!" It was cute. At least, she was in good spirits. The wait dragged on, and I noted that one young guy in blue scrubs seemed to really do very little but meander in and about the waiting room and empty rooms surrounding it. Everyone that I saw moved with little to no sense of urgency. It was super annoying. Imagine if I moved with that little urgency when these same people were in the restaurant. And that's just food. You'd think that people dealing with the lives and health of other people would move a little quicker.
Finally, after three hours we are called. We go into the room and the "doctor" takes about ten minutes to show up. He's my age-ish, a captain, and a resident. Not an attending. He looks like a rookie. He moves uncomfortably and unconfidently like a rookie. He talks like a rookie. He touches Taylor like a rookie. It was super annoying. I resolve that when he says he's going to get his boss that I won't let them mess this up. I immediately distrust him. He seems to truly not have seen pink eye before, or whatever is wrong with her. He tells me that he is pretty sure that that is what it is. I ask if it's usually so swollen. He says, "It can be." Really? What does that mean? Then another guy comes back in with him, a sergeant. Obviously, not his boss. They put some gook into her eye, turn the lights out, and shine a black light on it. Her tears, as she screams in pain and annoyance illuminate in a neon yellow under the blacklight. He's looking for scratches he says. From what I can tell, her eyes open for maybe a millisecond, yet he's satisfied that there is no scratch. I'm not convinced, but I am glad that the whole process is over.
He leaves again, and this time comes back with a guy, same rank, much different walk and demeanor and a name tag that says "senior resident." I'm feeling slightly better. He seems to know what he's doing. Pink eye, they say. Then they leave. They say nothing to me at all. They just walked out. Really? I wait about ten to fifteen minutes, as an exhausted Taylor falls asleep with the bright lights on in the bed. I open the door, and catch the eye of someone. I tell him that we've been waiting and the doctors left and said nothing, and I'd like to know what's going on. He returns to tell me that the doctor is doing paperwork, and that he'll be right back. The doctor jr returns and apologizes, not for leaving without communicating at all, but for the wait. He prescribes the ointment, and asks if I have any questions. He was very unthorough about it. Thank goodness I knew what to do from when I had pink eye.
Thank goodness, also, that Madigan sends a survey for every time you go to the hospital. Until now, I've never filled one out. I will definitely be filling this one out when it arrives. The hospital did call and schedule a follow up appointment for Monday. I can't wait to tell the doctor about my experience when I arrive.
I also, like an idiot, left the stroller in the car. So I had to carry a sleeping Taylor, her diaper bag and my purse to the pharmacy, which was at least a ten minute walk through the entire hospital. At the pharmacy, there was a wheelchair so I set her in it sleeping, albeit crunched up. I used it to wheel our way back to the ER and left it by the door. Back at home, I attempted to apply the first round of medicine to a sleeping wubba. She flinched every time I came near the eye, so I'm not sure if any actually got in the eye. But, we'd see tomorrow how it looked. It was late, and I was off to bed.
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