2001
| Sept. 13, 2001 Thursday is clinic day - my son gets chemo every Thursday unless his counts are down. The day started with me leaving his wheelchair on the sidewalk when we left home - and my tailgate down. I had been distracted - putting red, white and blue bows on my dashboard - Long's Drugs won't get flags in until Friday. People honked at us when I got in the traffic jam on the Dunbarton bridge. Someone finally flagged us down and I looked to see my tailgate open. And no wheelchair. I stopped (right in traffic - which was not moving - and jumped out and closed it. It took a few minutes for me to figure out what I had done. My rolling luggage - in which I carry my purse and supplies and work stuff - had managed to stay in the truck. At the hospital, I sandwiched my car tight against a van that had rudely spread itself over the side of the parking space. I climbed out on the passenger side. I held my son up, and, without our wheelchair, he limped his way to the elevator and then up the long walk to the hospital. By then his ankles hurt (they are not used to him walking that far) so I got him a hospital wheelchair. My son reported for his monthly exam - and I discovered that we had missed a blood test yesterday (it's an add-on test once a month) so they accessed my son and drew blood. Ooops. We decided not to trust me next time - fax the order to Unilabs and we will alert them to the add-on. I try really hard to keep all the details in order - shot schedule, pill schedule, each drug on a different set of rules - food, no food, drinks, no acidic drinks, his reactions, when to give pain killers, and so forth. I do pretty good. We went down to the cafeteria for a coffee (me - double decaf Mocha - my Thursday treat) and Snapple and Sun chips for him. I read a paper. It takes an hour for the lab to get back and chemo to be prepped. It was not an hour when he said he wanted to go back upstairs. He would not wait. He was insistent. This was highly unusual. He started rolling out the door. I scrambled. Trash to containers, cover for my half-drunk coffee. I went after him and we went upstairs on the elevator. I had left my rolling luggage at the nurse's desk - way back by the copy machine. I had my purse slung on the wheelchair. I put him in the waiting room and went back to tell them where we were - and the alarms went off. Drills are routine. I almost lived at the hospital for 10 months, and lived through the shock of knowing my son would be the LAST person evacuated in a real fire because he was at that time so helpless (not if I was there - I would have hauled him out on my back using the IV pole for support). I watched nurses closing doors. They said, "Just stay in the waiting room." No biggie. Three minutes later I heard a woman scream. And then "Get out!" came the instruction. The same nurse that had sent me to the waiting room now said leave your bag (still at the nurse's station) and, "Leave the building." Grab and roll. As I rolled him out we had a curb in front of us - I told him - "Stand up and step ahead" - people were panicked and flowing around us. If he stands - I can roll the chair down off the curb and he can re-sit and I can push him down the driveway There were too many people to my left to get him to a ramp. I was struggling, he was not moving fast, (he was also having trouble hearing me in the noise), my heart was racing. I was tense (I could feel it) and the TV crew had a camera in my face the whole time. They had been there for the morning show - a news byte about a liver transplant patient who couldn't get the liver surgery because of the airport shutdown - they couldn't fly the liver in. Since the crew was there, they just grabbed their camera and filmed the evacuation as well. They had a mike shoved in people's faces, "What's happening?" We did not know. A woman came to my aid - helping my son stand and step - I almost knocked him over pushing the chair back under him. The cameraman could have helped instead of filming. But we made it out to the parking lot - and then were told to,"Get across the street!" A few people panicked and were crying out. Yea gads! We had a full evac of the first floor of the 4-story pediatric building and an evacuation of the main Stanford Hospital - evacuation of anything near the Emergency room. We were outside for 4 hours - kids with IV drips going, heads bandaged - brain tumor patients - pregnant women - including a woman who had just had twins - the little bundles being carried along beside her. My son was accessed but chemo was still in the pharmacy - which was also evacuated. I kept thinking about the people on the upper 3 floors of pediatric in beds - they had made a decision not to pull them out. The first floor is ambulatory - the first floor and anyone that could be moved in a wheelchair is what they brought out. You couldn't even go to your car - we were put across the street. Before the adrenaline dropped - I told them if they needed a hand to roll the beds I would help. But no one was being allowed back in. They brought all the doctors out. I was fine until my son was safe - then I got dizzy and sat on the ground - surrounded by nurses and doctors. Best way to collapse. I ended up flat on the ground - my head spinning - my hands shaking. I am almost 60. We were in front of the Stanford Research facility and they put us inside in a clinic room and fed me juice and water and a cracker or two. My son's doctor - 5 months pregnant - was with us. We were both now her patient. (When we first reached the evac area - my son had taken turns in his wheelchair with his pregnant doctor.) Now, I was on a bed. My son on a chair. The doctor sat on a desk. They brought us all juice and water. They put cold clothes on my neck. Coming in they were going to put him somewhere else - I would not allow him out of my sight. They kept trying to put me where he wasn't - I was freaking out. I wouldn't let him be taken from my sight - almost followed him into the men's room toward the end. We went back inside the clinic after about 4 hours - both of us in wheelchairs (doctor's order). Again - I wouldn't let them take me until he was right behind me. He got his chemo. I drank a bottle of water. We had to wait for the pharmacy to play catch-up. This is the $3000 day - his GCSF vials for the month, packed on ice for the trip home. We waited. I swigged more water - ate part of a cookie and a York Patty. He had a package of turkey jerky and a York too (need sugar), It took 1.5 hours to drive home - the Dunbarton Bridge was a mess - University Ave was a 45 min. backup before you even reach the bridge. One hilarious note - my rolling luggage was left inside when we evacuated. In it were my car keys, of course. It had the beef jerky in it, a molasses cookie, work stuff, a Victoria's catalog, a novel, medicine, the bill for the two laptops, misc. papers and bills, a "Pasta Anytime" for feeding my son, and tampons stuck in every pocket - one here - one there. It's my - "I got stuck in the hospital emergency supply bag" - with a Fabio fan club luggage tag of course. It was searched - of course - by the bomb squad. They came thru with dogs. I know this because the computer bill was left out and stuck in the top pocket - hanging out as it were. Inside the bag it is now a jumbled wad of papers - copies and letters etc. Also the parking ticket appeals and the handicap parking permit and copies - stamps, address labels, and antacids. All jumbled together. Some dog must have gone nuts over the beef jerky - actually turkey jerky. Think of the poor guy searching the tampons! My son is very tired now - I am still shaking. Horrible experience - very frightening. Oh yes. His wheelchair was still sitting on the sidewalk when I got home. Waiting. |
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