You don’t always recognize big life moments as they are happening but sometimes you do, and they are truly big. Even if they are small. And happen via text.
Last week we got the 3 a.m. call from a sick young adult child. She was vomiting and doubled over in abdominal pain. No roommates happened to be home in her apartment. What should she do, she asked? Go to the ER, I answered, but you can’t walk there at this time of night by yourself. Call a friend.
No friends answered though, it was 3 o’clock on a Saturday into Sunday morning. The soonest a college student friend may wake up and look at their phone was sometime around brunch. I thought about my options. I have always gone. Wherever they were. In simpler times, when they were down the street, picking up the sick child from school. Feeding them popsicles, putting on their favorite shows. In more recent times, driving or flying to their dorm rooms during finals, when inevitably, sickness came calling around the same time a must-be-done-paper was due. Hotel rooms were secured. Gatorade and soup delivered by mom, not by room service, as somehow papers and finals were completed.
But it was 3 a.m. and this sick child was a flight away. And she needed to go to the hospital and I couldn’t bring her. Can you call the campus police, I texted? She texted back that there was a campus Emergency Medical System and she’d call them. I pictured the poster on the back of the bathroom stalls I’d seen when visiting campus, urging students to call if they needed help. OK, I answered. Text me when they get there. Do you have to let them in? No, she texted back, I think they just come in.
I kept my eyes on the screen, waiting for the three little dots that indicate a text being typed. They’re here, she texted. They’re bringing me to the ER. Ok, I replied, text me when you get there. I’m here, she wrote. It now was about 4:30 a.m. No one wants to be in an ER in a city at 4:30 a.m., least of all the people that work there.
They checked my vitals, she texted, but I don’t want to wait here. Like most urban ERs this one was filled with folks with no other options, homeless and sick, the staff overwhelmed. You have to stay, I texted back, even if it’s hours and it will be hours. I can’t, she texted. You can, I answered.
Be polite, I texted, but advocate for yourself. I need someone to come, she answered, and advocate for me. I have some very close mama bear friends who live in the area but they have young kids and I wasn’t about to call them at 4:30 a.m.
I can’t sit up straight, it hurts so much, she texted. I watched the three little dots delivering more anxiety-inducing news. I’m freezing, she texted. She had left her campus apartment with the EMTs wearing only shorts.
Every instinct in me wanted to jump in the car and drive the eight hours just to bring her a blanket.
Ask for a blanket, I texted.
They brought me a blanket, she wrote next.
And my shoulders relaxed.
She asked, they gave.
As the hours wore on, she was brought into the treatment area, put on an IV. My friends are here, she texted. They brought me warm clothes. After tests and more hours, she was cleared from having anything more serious than stomach flu or maybe food poisoning. She walked back to her apartment and ordered some soup for delivery. A friend brought over saltine crackers.
My not-so-little girl needed me, but she really didn’t. She handled it. Friends and health care workers also stepped up and in. It was a moment. I texted her a heart emoji. And promptly took a nap.
