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 (212) 870-3400
U.S. DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORTATION
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MIRACLE MAKERS
We had made it to Peter’s house just in time for Mariah’s weekly music lesson. Her composition satchel was overflowing because it was filled with her clarinet, recorder and loads of new music which she had played many times the week before. As she unpacked the folder of music, a piece of paper slipped to the floor. Both Mariah and her teacher read the heading out loud: Fruitvale Miracle Makers Sponsors Needed. She blurted, “What is this? Do you know where it came from Mommy?” I took the sheet of paper without giving it much thought and settled in the corner where I could listen to her session without being intrusive. After a few minutes I began reading the flyer. Apparently, Robert Limon, a man in our community of Oakland, CA. along with his mother, was making the effort to distribute gifts, clothes and food vouchers to less fortunate families in our county for the holidays. Many of these families live in shelters or share housing with other adults and children. His search was on for sponsors. The date I was reading the paper was Friday, December 16th. He was proposing a community party at the local De Colores Head Start the following Wednesday, December 21st where families, miracle makers and Santa could hang out and gift items would be distributed. I knew intuitively this wasn’t an accident. The information had landed in my daughter’s sheet music because it was meant for my eyes. I wanted to be a part of this munificent endeavor.
Head Start programs had made assessments from survey/needs. It was Robert’s hope that at least 40 families would be helped during the holiday season. After my initial call that evening I was assigned a family on Saturday. I had just a few days to plan my shopping and purchase gifts that I thought would be practical and also fun for the children. My ‘Family’ consisted of parents with two daughter’s ages 3 and 5. The minimum being asked was that we provide the kids with a wrapped gift and the family with groceries for a festive meal. We could play it bigger if we liked with hand me downs, more gift cards, blankets, shoes and coats. Since I had come into the program so late I decided I would commit to gift cards and presents for the two adults and two children. I planned on doing my shopping on Monday, December 19th.
I felt queasy as I spent the morning first at Safeway for the food gift card and then later at Long’s for the drugstore gift card. I began sneezing like crazy and was a bit irritated because I thought what a lousy time to be catching a cold right before the holidays. I carried a tissue box with me all day and by evening it was almost empty.
The next morning Tuesday I knew I needed to purchase the rest of the presents that day. I chose Target where I felt I could get more for my money and also satisfy the needs of adults and children. I was fortunate. As busy as the shopping season is at that time of the year, a young sales woman offered to help me with choices and sizes. She had two daughters who were exactly the same ages of the girls I was buying for. She had no idea how terrible I was feeling but she just took over anyway and guided me from one end of the store to another. When I was looking at baby dolls she advised me to buy two exactly the same. She said, “Siblings fight sometimes if the items are different.” This kind woman was the same age as the parents of my ‘Family’ and therefore she suggested comfortable sweat clothes for both the mom and dad. In just a few hours I had purchased: two baby dolls dressed in pink with moving eyelids, puzzles, books, games and outfits for the two adults. I was grateful for the sales woman’s help because at this point I was losing my ability to think clearly. When I looked around the store I didn’t notice anyone else getting such special attention which made me even more appreciative of her thoughtfulness.
When I got home all I wanted to do was go to bed, but I needed to wrap the gifts as was requested. My husband Bryan does the entire gift-wrapping in our house but I didn’t want to ask him as this was my project and he was already overloaded with work. I slowly and methodically began using decorative gift boxes and tried to write special notes to the small girls from Santa’s Helper. Just folding the paper around the items was difficult. Ordinarily I could zip through a task like this but this night I found myself lost in a fog. At 8:00 pm I took my temperature and it was 102. I rarely get fevers so this was high for me. I thought, “No wonder I feel so sick.” I took some Tylenol and went to sleep early.
The Miracle Makers were asked to deliver their gifts to the center the following morning between 9 and 10 am. The community party was planned from 10 am to 12 pm. I was looking forward to meeting my ‘Family’ and watching the children open unexpected gifts.
When I awakened Wednesday, December 21st, I was dizzy and felt ghastly. Bryan’s words to me as he left the house at 5:30 am were, “Stay in bed.”
I kept thinking, “How am going to drive to deliver these gifts?” I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes and looked at the bedroom clock it read 6:20 am. I had a mission and was worried about my commitment. I thought, “My ‘Family’ will be disappointed and feel left out if they are the only ones not to receive gifts. I have to go!”
The next thing I knew I was staring at the kitchen ceiling fan, lying flat on my back on the cold tile floor. It took a few minutes to get my bearings. I remember thinking, “Why is it so chilly in here?” I was puzzled. I didn’t remember walking down the hall to the kitchen. I looked around slowly and put my hand to my head where there was a thumping ache. My hair was matted with blood. I slowly lifted myself up to my desk chair and saw a red puddle on the floor. “Oh, I must have fainted but I don’t remember anything about it.” The clock read 7:10 am. I reached for the telephone and called Bryan. “Will you please come home and deliver these gifts? I fell and hit my head on the kitchen floor.”
“Do you need stitches?” he said.
“I don’t know; I hope not. I don’t want to spend the day in the emergency room.” I know that head wounds bleed a lot and also because I take Coumadin there is probably more blood than usual.” (Coumadin is an anticoagulant.)
“Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Bryan drives his car to the Bart station and takes the subway to San Francisco. The trip home can take between one half hour and one hour, depending upon the time of the day.
There were four unwrapped presents on the kitchen table. I began stumbling around thinking I would wrap the gifts and have everything ready when he got home. By this time the wound had stopped gushing blood but I was still very weak. The fog from the night before had not lifted; it felt as though I was wallowing in a murky mist.
Just then I heard Mariah’s door open. When she entered the kitchen she said, “What happened?” She looked aghast at the blood on the floor.
“I must have fainted,” I replied.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is scary!”
“Daddy is coming home to help me and also to deliver the gifts to the community center this morning.”
Mariah offered to wrap the remaining gifts and as we reached for them I noticed the edge of the butcher-block table, approximately eight feet from the spot where I had ‘come to’ on the floor, was covered in blood. It made no sense to me. I remembered nothing of the fall.
I went to my bedroom and lay down on the bed not caring about the blood staining my pillow. I was consumed with thoughts of being late with the delivery.
Bryan arrived home around 9:30 am. I instantly felt relief. My husband is such a stable, balanced, loving guy. He always knows what to do to make me feel safe. Actually, just his presence does that for me.
He looked at my head to evaluate the damage and said, “You are asking the wrong person to make a judgment as to your need for stitches. I can see an open wound but your hair is so tangled with blood it is difficult to see the size of the cut. We need to go to the hospital. First, will you try to rinse your hair so the wound will be visible?”
“All right, I will do that but I need your help because I am feeling so dizzy. Please go deliver the packages because the party starts at 10:00 am.”
“Kay, we need to go to the hospital now. Your lesion might start mending and it will be too late to stitch it properly.”
“I don’t care! I will be fine just lying here in bed until you get home. At least it isn’t gushing anymore.”
I know he didn’t approve of my decision but he also knows me well and he knew I wouldn’t budge until those gifts were delivered. He called Robert and said his wife was ill and that he would be a little late. But, he would be bringing the items as soon as possible. He went downstairs and helped Mariah finish the packages and then the two of them were on their way.
When they returned Bryan stood in the bathroom near the shower while I attempted to wash my hair. I was afraid I might fall again so he naturally agreed. I didn’t use much soap; I just wanted to rinse out the blood. When I was finished and dressed we left for the emergency room. I had to be content with a ‘wash and wear’ hairdo. Ugh! But I had no choice.
I took a deep breath and tried to relax as much as possible; I knew it would be a long afternoon. Bryan dropped me off at the entrance while he parked the car. After wandering the halls for several minutes I asked a gentleman the directions to the admitting desk. He pointed me to the right corridor. I was surprised to see the waiting room was not that busy and it seemed fairly organized. I actually didn’t have to wait long to see the admitting nurse, a beautiful, athletic looking woman. What transpired was a bit bizarre and set the tone for the day.
First there were the expected questions such as: My name, address, telephone number, insurance, etc. She was extremely businesslike and matter of fact. Because I had walked in without Bryan she asked, “Do you live alone.” I told her I didn’t; that my husband was parking the car. “Okay, tell me exactly what happened and how you passed out.” As she asked me this question and was typing away on her computer, she was also eyeing the group of people right in front of her through the glass window. I felt she was a multi-tasker.
I tried to be detailed and thorough. “I don’t know how I passed out. When I opened my eyes at 7:10 am I was on the cold tile floor of the kitchen staring at the ceiling fan.”
“Wait a minute!” she said dramatically. “Was your husband at home?”
“No,” I replied. “He leaves the house at 5:30 am for work.”
“What do you mean you awakened on the kitchen floor?” With a large gesture she swung her leg over her desk chair and said, “Did he just step over you and go on his way leaving you unconscious? I doubt that!”
I thought, “Oh this is going to be good. She is getting cross with me and all I am trying to do is tell her what happened.” In my hazy mental and physical condition I started the explanation over. “Okay, not when I got up for the first time, later when I fell in the kitchen. I don’t know how I fainted, I don’t remember anything. I don’t even remember walking down the hall. All I know is I opened my eyes and saw my desk chair and lamp askew. When I touched the throbbing ache on my head I felt a mass of matted, bloody hair. That’s it! That’s what happened.”
“People do not conk out without a reason. There is something else going on. I want you to go back to the waiting room and sit right in front of my window where I can watch you. After you go to that office over there, (she was pointing and gesturing vividly toward a nearby room) come back and sit in front of me again. Is that clear? No matter what they tell you, sit there! I need to be able to see you.”
As I took my seat right in front of her window Bryan came in and sat next to me. By this time the room was full of people. An attendant came up to all the folks blocking the large glass window view and asked them to move to the other side of the room. She spoke with a thick accent and to all these sick patients it didn’t make any sense. The more distant area was packed with patients and the area in front of the window was wide open with many available seats. Everyone just looked at each other blankly and then moved. I didn’t because I was told to stay put!
“You too Madame. You need to move to the other side of the room.”
I answered with, “The admitting nurse said I was not to move anywhere. I am to stay in her clear view.” I was wondering if she was going to make Bryan move across the room when he told me he needed to go and pick up Mariah from a special music lesson. He would be back as soon as possible. There seemed to be so much going on but nothing seemed to matter much. I felt out of it. The attendant checked with the admitting nurse and told me I didn’t have to move.
Surprisingly I was taken to a bed rather quickly. A tall, talkative nurse named Maggie led the way to a bed straight back from the waiting room. On the way she gave me blankets that were heated and I was grateful for that gesture because the emergency room was cold. She began speaking loudly, “When you faint there is a reason. You are SICK!” The way she said it bothered me. I was worried there was a problem, something other than a high fever or the flu. Immediately a male nurse dressed in all green began administrating an EKG. He too began telling me that when someone faints it can indicate a more severe difficulty and that was why I was admitted so quickly. He said, “Oh yea, all the people on this side of the ER have potentially serious problems.”
I thought, “Oh great!” I watched his face as he did his job bracing myself for news of my heart. He didn’t tell me anything for I had to wait for a doctor to interpret the results. Maggie approached the bed with all the paraphernalia to put an IV in my arm. I was puzzled. “Why do I need an IV?” I asked.
“As long as I am drawing blood for blood tests I might as well get the IV catheter in place just in case you need fluids. You might be dehydrated.” She quickly was ready to stick the back of my hand.
“Would you please put it in a vein where my arm bends? It hurts less that way.”
“Oh I have a technique. I am the BEST! But, I will put it wherever you like.”
She was right; she did it well and I didn’t feel a thing. Just as the blood was filling the long tube a voice from the other side of the drawn curtain was yelling loudly, “Maggie, Maggie, I need your help!”
“I am right in the middle of drawing blood! I can’t help you now.” She looked at me and said, “See, I told you I was the BEST. They all want me to do their work because I have a special skill.” She shook her head and said, “I am tired. I have to do everyone’s job around here.”
From the moment I lay down I heard a woman crying out, “I am hungry! Feed me. Where is my food?” She would repeat this every few minutes. “I want to eat. Where is my lunch? Get me something to eat!” It had been going on the whole time the nurses were doing their work. I couldn’t see her but only a light beige drape separated us so I was keenly aware of her frustration.
Maggie said, “Are you diabetic? Do you have any dietary concerns?” She kept asking her this over and over. The woman was babbling and never answered Maggie’s questions. This went on for at least 20 minutes and I am sure it had already been going on before I was admitted. Maggie answered irritatingly, “Oh pooh, forget it.”
Behind the beige veil I heard a man’s voice say, “Where is that sandwich I ordered over an hour ago?”
I remember thinking, “Get the woman some food so I can have some peace.”
The emergency room situation is unique. You are sharing a space with strangers but instantly become a part of the same energy because you can hear every conversation, all their pain, worries, aggravation and you are all there to get help.
All of a sudden the curtain flung back all the way around the curved U shape pole surrounding my bed. It happened fast. An elderly woman who must have been in her 90’s was leaning over me shouting in my ear. “Did you take my things? Where is my purse? Where did you put my stuff? Did you take my shoes? Where is everything?”
I answered, “No I didn’t. I am sure everything is okay. There is a bag under your bed. That is probably your stuff. The nurse will be back soon and can help you.” I didn’t have the energy to get up and pull the curtains so both of us were exposed to the long corridor where nurses and doctors dashed in and out of rooms doing their job. The woman continued to complain vacillating between wanting food and trying to locate her purse. It wasn’t too long after that someone brought her a sandwich and the curtain was drawn between us. I heard nothing again coming from that side of the drape.
I overheard a conversation between a very upset man and a hospital attendant. The man said an ambulance picked up his friend and that he followed the ambulance to this hospital. After he parked his car and came inside, the admissions desk had no record of the admitting his friend. He was angry! He was walking all over the corridors trying to locate the injured man. It was bizarre. I was beginning to think I was in ‘nut house’ rather than an emergency room.
Just then Bryan arrived and said that they almost didn’t let him in because they had no record of me. They asked him if I had dismissed myself from the waiting room. He said, “No, I saw her walk toward the back room to a bed.” They finally figured it out and told him where to go.
It was time for my next test, a CAT scan. I didn’t realize this but when a person takes Coumadin (anticoagulant) and they are bleeding on the outside they could be bleeding on the inside. It is important to see what is going on in one’s head. The trip to the CAT scan room was easy and the test painless. Nothing unusual happened. Bryan stayed in my cubicle until I returned. While I was gone he pulled the curtains back all around the pole. When I returned I could see clearly all the way down the hall to the waiting room. I asked him why he had done that. “The squeaky wheel gets the grease.” He was referring to my ‘90 year old neighbor.’ “She left while you were gone. Maybe if we keep the curtains open they won’t forget you are here.”
I don’t know if it helped or not but about that time the doctor arrived. He had a great sense of humor and tried to make the whole experience more enjoyable by teasing both Bryan and me. He really took the edge off my anxiety. After looking at all the results that turned out to be normal, he concluded that I had a viral infection called Vestibular Neuritis which causes dizziness due to an infection of the vestibular nerve. The vestibular nerve carries information from the inner ear about head movement. When one of the two vestibular nerves is infected, there is an imbalance between the two sides, and vertigo appears. He felt that was the cause of my fall. I had lost my balance from being dizzy, had dropped and hit my head going down. I then probably crawled to the spot where I awakened on the tile floor on my back. I also could have been dehydrated from the high fever. After giving me all that news I was still going to need the incision repaired. He gave me a choice: if he did stitches he needed to shave lots of hair and numb the area with a medicine that stings, or use staples and staple the gash together. He said, “The staples hurt but it is over and done with quickly.” I chose the staples. Wow, the first one pained so much I didn’t really feel the next three because I was still riding on the wave of soreness from the first one. I won’t tell you the expletives I used that Wednesday afternoon. I’m sure all my ‘neighbors’ got an ear full.
As soon as Maggie removed the IV Catheter we were free to leave the ER. Tomorrow it will have been four weeks ago that I first got sick. Although I am definitely on the mend, I still have bouts with nausea and dizziness. They come like waves without any forewarning. I have spent much time in bed because I haven’t felt like doing anything else. I have used this time in reflection.
I’ve thought about the EKG and the CAT scan. Isn’t it remarkable that a doctor can see a picture of the inside of our body to determine if there is a major problem? I am grateful for that and call it a miracle. So many questions are answered in a matter of minutes. The combined knowledge of the ER is also phenomenal. One can crack their head open in the morning and be eating chicken soup with their family in the evening.
I just got an e-mail from Robert Limon and after tallying up the work we all did he was astounded. In just two weeks there were 70 Fruitvale Miracle Maker sponsors who made miracles happen for 49 families. I am so thrilled to have been a part of that shared experience. Next year I will be at the party.
An emergency is an unexpected event requiring help or relief. A miracle is superb or surpassing example of something: a wonder, a marvel. Let’s be open to giving of ourselves. There is always enough to share if we are willing to let go. I am going to continue to be a Miracle Maker and also allow miracles to come into my life. What about you?
Read my included articles on Recovery Times: I AM HEALTHY and Older Woman, Younger Man. Visit my website:
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