3:50 PM ... just a typical afternoon. I was on the treadmill watching Dr. Oz. Then the phone rang. Marisa was at her after-school program at the JCC ... or so I thought. I answered the phone. I slowly started to realize that something very different had occurred. The bus company was calling to tell me that Marisa's bus was in an accident.
"Marisa's okay! The bus was rear-ended by a car. The police came. They had Marisa taken to the emergency room at North Shore on Community Drive. That's what they do when these things happen and there isn't a parent around to make the decision. I'm so sorry."
"Oh ... who went with her?" I asked.
"The police had an ambulance take her, so you have to go down to meet her there." Again, "So sorry!"
I got off the phone and called North Shore ER.
"Could you check if she is there?" I asked after explaining what had happened to the man on the other end of the line.
"She's not on the list, so don't come here because she might have been taken to another ER," was his answer.
"No" I said, "I was told she would be coming there. She's probably not there yet, so please let someone know that she has autism and may not give expected answers to questions. This could make the examining doctor think that she has an injury from the accident which might warrant admitting her."
"I understand," he answered.
I was thinking back to the time when Marisa was just 2 years old and had developed a fever. I had scheduled an appointment with her doctor. Unfortunately, since our regular pediatrician was on vacation, she was seen by a covering doctor who was unfamiliar with signs of autism. The doctor, confused by Marisa's extraordinary quiet, decided to admit her to the hospital. He refused to accept my explanation of autism, and the result was a 4 day unnecessary nightmare in the hospital for what turned out to be just a cold. We were finally released when our regular doctor returned. So having been told that Marisa appeared not to have any injuries at the site of the accident, I was worried about how an examining physician might view her in terms of typical behavior to be expected of a 20 year old.
I quickly freshened up and dressed for the half-hour ride to the ER. A number of really bad thoughts were going through my mind:
Was she perhaps really hurt in spite of my being told by the lady at the bus company office, who was not at the scene of the accident, that she was fine?
What if she was taken to a different hospital emergency room?
The bus company late afternoon shift would be coming on soon. If I needed to call them back, they most likely wouldn't know anything about the accident.
If Marisa was taken to another ER other than North Shore, how would I ever know where to go? I would have to drive around from one hospital to another. Would Marisa be smart enough to give the ER my cell phone number?
So as all these thoughts were racing through my mind, I was weaving in and out of early rush hour traffic in an effort to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. Finally I arrived at the ER, and the attendant told me there's no room to park. I must park up the hill at the main hospital. Frustrated and angry, I drove the mile distance to park, and then ran back down to the ER as if in a marathon. I arrived out of breath and approached the main desk at the ER entrance where the receptionist glanced over the list of patients that were brought in. At last she says, "She's in room 40. I'll take you there."
Relieved, I followed her to the nurses station surrounded by numbered cubicles.
"I'm here for Marisa Rubin," I say.
"Oh, I'm the doctor who examined her. She's just fine!" the young physician informed me.
"Was she worried!" I asked.
"No ... she said you were coming."
I was pleasantly surprised to hear that.
Just then from the corner of my eye, I saw a bouncy curly haired girl jumping off an examining table. It was Marisa coming toward me.
"Hi mom! I'm ready to go!" Her enthusiasm and eagerness to escape the confines of the ER were a refreshing relief.
We patiently waited to have insurance information taken and discharge papers signed. Then we were on our way. Out in the sunshine of the late afternoon, we walked the mile up the hill to the car.
"I missed my after-school program," she said with a sad tone in her voice.
"Marisa be happy! You weren't hurt, and you can go home and do something else. Just think, you get to walk a mile and exercise with me right now!" I said, trying to sound upbeat. "And tomorrow you can share your ER experience."
"I'll check e-mail when we get home," she decides.
The events of the afternoon were unnerving to me, but how pleasantly surprised I was to see Marisa having the ability to take it all in stride. She wasn't hurt, but she could have acted out in anger at having been taken to the ER instead of to her fun after-school program. She managed to handle herself in a mature manner, accepting the unfortunate turn of events with understanding and grace.
"How come you were not so worried about being in the ER alone?" I asked.
"I knew you were on your way," she answered with confidence.
As we walked up the hill together a very pleasant thought occurred to me. How far we have come.
"Marisa's okay! The bus was rear-ended by a car. The police came. They had Marisa taken to the emergency room at North Shore on Community Drive. That's what they do when these things happen and there isn't a parent around to make the decision. I'm so sorry."
"Oh ... who went with her?" I asked.
"The police had an ambulance take her, so you have to go down to meet her there." Again, "So sorry!"
I got off the phone and called North Shore ER.
"Could you check if she is there?" I asked after explaining what had happened to the man on the other end of the line.
"She's not on the list, so don't come here because she might have been taken to another ER," was his answer.
"No" I said, "I was told she would be coming there. She's probably not there yet, so please let someone know that she has autism and may not give expected answers to questions. This could make the examining doctor think that she has an injury from the accident which might warrant admitting her."
"I understand," he answered.
I was thinking back to the time when Marisa was just 2 years old and had developed a fever. I had scheduled an appointment with her doctor. Unfortunately, since our regular pediatrician was on vacation, she was seen by a covering doctor who was unfamiliar with signs of autism. The doctor, confused by Marisa's extraordinary quiet, decided to admit her to the hospital. He refused to accept my explanation of autism, and the result was a 4 day unnecessary nightmare in the hospital for what turned out to be just a cold. We were finally released when our regular doctor returned. So having been told that Marisa appeared not to have any injuries at the site of the accident, I was worried about how an examining physician might view her in terms of typical behavior to be expected of a 20 year old.
I quickly freshened up and dressed for the half-hour ride to the ER. A number of really bad thoughts were going through my mind:
Was she perhaps really hurt in spite of my being told by the lady at the bus company office, who was not at the scene of the accident, that she was fine?
What if she was taken to a different hospital emergency room?
The bus company late afternoon shift would be coming on soon. If I needed to call them back, they most likely wouldn't know anything about the accident.
If Marisa was taken to another ER other than North Shore, how would I ever know where to go? I would have to drive around from one hospital to another. Would Marisa be smart enough to give the ER my cell phone number?
So as all these thoughts were racing through my mind, I was weaving in and out of early rush hour traffic in an effort to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. Finally I arrived at the ER, and the attendant told me there's no room to park. I must park up the hill at the main hospital. Frustrated and angry, I drove the mile distance to park, and then ran back down to the ER as if in a marathon. I arrived out of breath and approached the main desk at the ER entrance where the receptionist glanced over the list of patients that were brought in. At last she says, "She's in room 40. I'll take you there."
Relieved, I followed her to the nurses station surrounded by numbered cubicles.
"I'm here for Marisa Rubin," I say.
"Oh, I'm the doctor who examined her. She's just fine!" the young physician informed me.
"Was she worried!" I asked.
"No ... she said you were coming."
I was pleasantly surprised to hear that.
Just then from the corner of my eye, I saw a bouncy curly haired girl jumping off an examining table. It was Marisa coming toward me.
"Hi mom! I'm ready to go!" Her enthusiasm and eagerness to escape the confines of the ER were a refreshing relief.
We patiently waited to have insurance information taken and discharge papers signed. Then we were on our way. Out in the sunshine of the late afternoon, we walked the mile up the hill to the car.
"I missed my after-school program," she said with a sad tone in her voice.
"Marisa be happy! You weren't hurt, and you can go home and do something else. Just think, you get to walk a mile and exercise with me right now!" I said, trying to sound upbeat. "And tomorrow you can share your ER experience."
"I'll check e-mail when we get home," she decides.
The events of the afternoon were unnerving to me, but how pleasantly surprised I was to see Marisa having the ability to take it all in stride. She wasn't hurt, but she could have acted out in anger at having been taken to the ER instead of to her fun after-school program. She managed to handle herself in a mature manner, accepting the unfortunate turn of events with understanding and grace.
"How come you were not so worried about being in the ER alone?" I asked.
"I knew you were on your way," she answered with confidence.
As we walked up the hill together a very pleasant thought occurred to me. How far we have come.
