As I sat in the waiting room, I noticed the look of frustration on a woman’s face nearby. Her clenched jaw and intense glare made my heart race. I wasn’t prepared for a confrontation, especially since I had witnessed firsthand how anger can erupt in these chaotic spaces. A few years back, I witnessed a male nurse being attacked when he attempted to calm an irate patient who believed that my visibly sick child should not have been prioritized over his spouse.
In the emergency room, emotions can run high, and the atmosphere can quickly turn hostile. The resentment directed at me as I walked past fellow patients is palpable. I understand the anguish of waiting, especially when you see someone like me, who appears to jump the line. I saw a man struggling with nausea and a mother tending to her child with a broken arm, and it pains me to know that my child’s situation grants us priority.
Let me clarify: I derive no joy from the urgency we receive at the ER. As a mother, I empathize with the suffering of others. The truth is, I wish we were just dealing with a common ailment. When it comes to my son, however, every minute counts. He has a urea cycle disorder called citrullinemia, a condition that can escalate dangerously. Though he may look fine on the outside, inside, he could be battling a life-threatening toxin that is affecting his brain.
This invisible threat—ammonia—can manifest in various ways, causing confusion, unusual behavior, or even severe lethargy. If left untreated, it could lead to irreversible damage or worse. We have been in this situation far too many times, roughly 30 visits to the ER, and the medical team knows our case well. They understand that urgent action is necessary to prevent potential brain damage.
Unlike other patients whose conditions may be visible, my son’s crisis is often undetectable until blood tests are performed. Due to the nature of his illness and the need for sterile conditions, visiting the ER is our only option. No home monitoring exists for his condition, and I dread the thought of risking exposure to germs while waiting for our turn.
When I see the nurses recognize my son and call out his name with familiarity and warmth, it’s not favoritism; it’s a response dictated by medical necessity. Just as a patient with chest pain is seen before one with a mild headache, my son is called first due to the potential for severe complications. I understand that this can seem unfair, and it’s heartbreaking to witness others suffering.
I am genuinely sorry for the frustration you feel as you wait. This life was not one we chose, but we are grateful for the healthcare professionals who act swiftly and the understanding of those who do not judge without knowing the full story. We are not trying to cut in line; we are racing against time to protect my child.
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In summary, while it may seem like some patients are prioritized unfairly in the ER, it is crucial to recognize that urgent medical needs dictate these decisions. Our experiences shape our understanding of the complexities of emergency care, and I hope that by sharing our story, we can foster a little more empathy in these high-pressure situations.