Sam's 1st visit to the ER

11:01 p.m. Saturday, September 13th, 2008

Elise and I woke to Sam crying.

Anyone who knows Sam, knows that this, in and of itself, is uncommon. When he learned to roll, he might find himself on his stomach, unable to turn back over. Now that he, Big Toe, Little Toe and Red Toe (his Ugly Doll posse) often throw soirees late into the night, the sound of Sam thrashing around in his crib is commonplace and rarely cause for alarm. He only calls out when his pacifier mysteriously goes missing (occasionally down the front of his sleep skirt which makes it difficult for a bleary-eyed parent to find in the dark). A begrudging mom or dad pulls themselves from the warm confines of bed to find Sam waiting, staring up at them like a carp gasping for air. Even these intrusions have become fewer and further between.

This was CRYING.

That lasted--in fits and bursts--all night. Elise and I contemplated teething, hunger, swimmer's ear, a bad dream, gas. Only Elise could mollify Sam's distress. When we changed his diaper on the floor of his room (sometimes easier than a changing table when your child thrashes like a bear caught in a trap), he just laid there. We looked at each other. We knew he didn't feel well. We put him in his crib, and he just looked up at us as we stroked the back of his hand, hoping to comfort him.

As dawn broke, his right eye swelled. We called the on-call pediatrician. She didn't like the sound of any swelling of then eye, so she sent us hurriedly packing for the children's ER on 45th Street. 45th Street...in West Palm Beach...on a Sunday morning...greeeeaaat. Maybe we could score a hit of crack on the way to the hospital.

I needn't go into details as to the nature of the wildlife inhabiting the ER (even the children's ER) at St. Mary's. Little 18 month Destiny Desiree was up all night throwing up and yet she breakfasted on Dunkin Donuts hashbrowns. To no one's surprise, one of the father's in attendance sported a tattoo of two teardrops below his eye which Elise later informed me meant that he was twice a murderer. Lovely. Also to no one's surprise, the minute we arrived in the ER, Sam brightened, smiled, giggled and wanted to make friends with all the other babies. "You're supposed to be sick," I had to keep reminding him, but no. Evidently, he was feeling much, much better, though his eye wasn't any less irritated.

A few hours later, we were guided to an examining room for...ta da...more waiting. After 2 long hours, we were eventually greeted by Dr. Pierre, a Haitian pediatrician that reeked of Drakkar Noir and reminded both Elise and I of a witch doctor. At that point, I wouldn't have been surprised if he had pulled out a tiny voodoo doll of Sam. Fortunately, Dr. Pierre ruled out pink eye. Sam had scratched his eye in the middle of the night. They put an iridescent dye in his eye then shined a black light on it to look for scratches on the cornea. For a brief instant he looked like Malcolm McDowell from Clockwork Orange. All with nary a peep.

3 hours passed before we were allowed to leave. Sam slept on the way home. We both, starving, craved Dunkin Donuts hashbrowns of our own. We both, relieved, were thankful it wasn't something more serious. I know this is only the tip of the iceberg and the first of many more visits to come. It was comforting to know that it was something visceral and tangible that hurt Sam. A scratch, even an incredibly painful one that we couldn't seen, was better than a mysterious, nebulous ailment like an earache that we can't see with our own two eyes. We don't know when it comes on or when it gets better. A scratch you can see heal. This is incredibly important to me when Sam can't tell us what is wrong.

Sam went back to sleep. Elise made sandwiches and we did the same. As I drifted off, I felt incredibly fortunate to be a part of this family, a family that tries to make even trips to the ER fun (Sam got a kick out of trying on Elise's giant Prada sunglasses on the examining table and becoming Baby Bono, "Ohh...you sooo cool. You Baby Bono.") And incredibly thankful for Elise who has a masterful sense of knowing when to be patient and when to be urgent.