At 8:00 am this morning (which was really 7am), Steve flipped over in bed and groaned. "My shoulder is getting worse. I think we have to go to the hospital."
Yesterday, Steve tripped over a curb when running for a fly in an intense game of kickball with the neighborhood urchins. He hit the ground and knocked his shoulder out of its socket. The miserable urchins laughed hysterically at the daddy on the ground. He pushed the shoulder back into place and continued the game. He did mention that it hurt like hell.
The shoulder was worse this morning, so we packaged everyone up, dropped off Jonah at CCD, and headed for the local hospital. We were the only ones in the waiting room, so Steve was quickly sent off for X-Rays. Ian saw the vending machines and said, "YUM! I want cheetos." Since I'm Mother O' The Year, I bought my kid a bag of Cheetos for breakfast. He did wash it down with Vitamin Water, so I suppose it all balanced out.
There was free coffee and magazines for me. Ian sat down at a kiddie table with his snack, and we watched TV together.
Steve's shoulder was fine. He came out an hour later with a prescription for pain drugs and a blue sling.
Our visit to the emergency room was actually a pleasurable experience. Speedy, clean, snacks. What a difference between suburban and urban emergency rooms!
When Ian was nearly two, he became dehydrated because of diarrhea and needed an IV drip. We went to Columbia Presbyterian. Their emergency room was packed to the gills with people. No TV. No vending machines. No free coffee. Just a dirty floor and crying children. Some people had been sitting there all day.
I was so horrified at the filth that when Ian's hydration level returned to normal at 5:00 am, I made the doctor remove the IV. I carried his sleeping body in my arms and staggered onto the dark street to find a gypsy cab home. I didn't want my sick kid in that room of horrors any longer than was absolutely necessary.
The inequities between the two hospitals are so obvious and so wrong. Time for change.