A Day of Firsts

My dad's poofy winter coat was on a ledge by the window, and all of my clothes and shoes were in a big plastic bag in the closet.

Dad sat quietly in a chair next to me when an older nurse came in. This was my first shift change. I would get very used to them. Every eight hours a new nurse becomes yours for 1/3 of the day, mostly without warning.

The new nurse was overweight, probably in her late 50s, wearing make-up and bright lipstick. She had a little Christmas tree pinned to her name badge. Her hair was half-up, half-down… though it looked as worn out as she would be in about an hour. She was pleasant as she started to explain that blood tests showed my “blood count” was low. That’s why I was feeling so faint. Whatever that meant…

My dad probably caught one or two words, but he didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t know what to ask. I could explain how cells divide, but anatomy classes weren’t offered at my public high school. And sex ed doesn’t count.

But that’s the point. I should have asked questions because I didn’t know what anything meant. If I were in that teenager’s body today, I’d be asking, “What does that mean?” “Why did that happen?” “What do we do to fix it?” “Where the hell is the doctor?”

But for now Pops and I just both did as we were raised to do. We just sat there and didn’t say anything. We waited for her to check my vitals, which I quickly learned meant taking my temperature, blood pressure and pulse. She said my blood pressure out loud; 90-something over something. She could have said any number, I didn’t know what it meant.

She was furiously writing in a binder. I was so curious. But I didn’t say anything. We just sat there looking at her as she wrote. She closed my file and looked up with a smile.

“We’re going to keep her overnight, and the doctor will see you in the morning.”

My dad just nodded.

A little while later my mom walked into the room. It was dark outside and I hadn’t seen her all day. All the kids were at home and she was happy to report they all volunteered to help with dishes.

“So what did they tell you?” she asked.

My dad looked at me, so I said, “My blood count is low and they’ll have to keep me overnight.”

“Oh thank God, that’s all it is,” my mom said. Moms are supposed to know everything, so I figured at least one of us understood what was wrong. She took off her winter coat to reveal a Christmas sweater. I don’t remember what it looked like, I just remember it was a Christmas sweater.

She came over to the bed and stroked my hair. At the time I didn’t realize she had put on lipstick and blush, and she smelled of whatever perfume scent she wore… nothing memorable except that it was there.

Women are strange. I often wonder why I like being a woman when I don’t really understand them. Sure, I had older brothers and everybody called me a tomboy. But in hindsight, I think I wasn't so much boyish as I was not girlish. Women just didn't make sense- not girls in high school, not teachers and not my mom.

Like many women, I suspect, after hearing her daughter was unconscious and had been admitted to the hospital, my mom changed clothes, did her make-up, fixed her hair and made sure to smell nice. She was sure that household chores would be done. Then she came to the hospital.

But I wasn’t aware of all that at the time, not on a conscious level, anyway. After 24 hours of pain and an explanation that explained nothing, I had Mom and Dad’s full attention. Everyone here was caring about me. Everybody. I felt important, and I never felt like that before.

My mom just kept stroking my hair saying everything would be alright. “We’ll just take you home tomorrow… you did this at a good time you know,” she half-joked. “We met our insurance deductible for the year and this is going be covered,” she said with a smile. I was so close to being an adult, but I felt like such a kid. I had no idea what she was talking about.

My parents were absolutely convinced I would be going home the next day. My dad overheard me explaining some details to doctors or nurses, but they really had no idea what had happened. They didn't know there was blood. Mom didn't even know that I fainted at the doctor's office. I was a kid. I just assumed my mom knew everything- whether I told her or not.

The nurse never said I was going home. She said I was staying overnight, and that we'd talk to the doctor in the morning. I lost consciousness, lost a lot of blood and was in the worst pain I’d ever been in, and no one thought to ask why, or how long I would be there or what they were doing to fix it or anything. None of us even thought about it. We really expected to have a doctor explain everything in the morning.

For now I felt comfortable. My dad had held my hand a little, which is his way of saying everything is going to be OK.

Visiting hours were over, and we didn't question that they had to leave. Mom put on her thick coat, brushed her hand across my forehead and gave me a kiss.

She told me I’d go home the next day and that everything would be fine. My stomach still ached quite a bit, but I just felt better. It felt like the grown ups had things under control.

I waved good bye and pulled the scratchy sheet and thin, sterile blanket up to my chin and closed my eyes… only to open them later in the night with horrible horrible pain. And I couldn’t move.