The night before we were to left for our Christmas holiday our daughter had her first trip to the emergency room. We’ve been lucky. She is four and we’ve had no major incidents, no broken arm from a fall a JJ Byrne, no head on collision with the wall at the Y, no raging fever when she was a newborn. Lucky. But the night before the night before Christmas our luck ran out. Our girl had a virus, nothing unusual since apparently preschool kids in New York City are perpetually drippy, hacky and feverish. But that night she woke up crying and coughing unable to catch her breath. It was clearly an asthma attack. I gave her a few puffs of an inhaler, and she was back to sleep within minutes. But her shoulders were shrugging and her belly was sucking in, even in sleep she was working hard to breathe. So, after a few calls to the pediatrician off to the ER we went (this all sounds very cool and collected, but I felt like I was having a panic-induced asthma attack myself). She responded well to treatment and we were home by three am, still shaking with adrenalin.
Here are a few tips for late night trips to the ER (may you live a thousand years and never need to set foot in a hospital):
Keep her asleep for as long as possible. I put on her pants, shoes and jacket all while she slept. Being sure to put her in her favorites so she would wake up happy, with her outfit at least. Then we kept lights low as we transitioned her to the car.
On the advice of our ever helpful pediatrician at Tribeca Pediatrics we brought a bag with some essentials—obviously, her insurance card and your ID, fresh clothes for her, a blanket, her lovey, snack, water and a few things for yourself, whatever would get you through a long stay (extra undies, toothbrush, deodorant, electronic cigarettes).
Don’t forget the headphones and your cell phone charger. When we arrived there was, not one, but two children in different rooms screaming, well one was crying hysterically and the other was moaning in a way that made me feel nauseous. You want to get headphones on that kid STAT.
Bringing a blanket may seem excessive, but it is key. Having a blanket from home will help her feel secure because of the familiarity, but also because of the simple idea of having a barrier between herself and the hospital. It feels protective. And chances are you won’t get a bed and even if you do get a bed, there ain’t no blankets.
Lastly, and most importantly, introduce yourself and learn the names of the nurses and doctors helping you. This is not an effort to suck up to them. It is a way to form a connection, to improve the work that all of you are doing to take care of your kid. Atul Gawande, surgeon and author of The Checklist Manifesto: How to Get Things Right, said that in the operating rooms of the top hospitals when the surgical teams learned each other’s names (scary that they didn’t do this regularly) their performances were vastly improved. It’s simple, when you call someone by name you are reminded that they are a person, you are reminded that their time is as valuable as your own. Those people have chosen to be doctors and nurses, they have chosen to help you and your kid in the middle of the night. Calling them by name shows your respect. And if you are panicked, shouting someone’s name down a hospital corridor produces far more results than saying “nurse, nurse” like you’re on the set of a soap opera.