Stuck waiting in ER, SLO County mother ponders busy doctors, COVID and not-so-comfy chairs

Spending eight hours in the ER isn’t a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Or any day.

There’s always great comfort in having those facilities and those highly trained, skilled caring professional heroes at the ready, 24/7.

But when it’s a busy holiday weekend at the height of a pandemic surge, there are overlays of concern that stretch beyond worries about the patient.

Being an advocate when a loved one is in the hospital is such a crucial thing to do, especially at times when hospital staffs are stretched to the limit. After serving in that honorable capacity off and on for decades for various family members, when push met shove that Sunday, there was no doubt what I’d do, COVID-19 or no COVID-19.

Of course, I’d be there by his side throughout, as long as the hospital would allow me to be there.

Having helpful hands to straighten the blanket, hand over the tissues and barf bag and alert the nurse that the patient needs her help now, please, can ease what can be a terribly frustrating solo experience for the person who’s stuck in that unforgiving ER cot.

Son Brian had been experiencing symptoms for nearly two days, which had turned potentially dangerous. By Sunday, the ER visit became inevitable and badly needed.

(Tip: Having photos of our vaccine and booster cards on my phone paid off big time.)

Fortunately, his wait to be admitted into the Sierra Vista Regional Medical Center ER was very short, in part (can you imagine it!) because there was nobody else in the waiting room.

However, the intake pace picked up soon after Brian was whisked off to his emergency room cubicle. There was a steady flow of admits ranging from broken bones, dislocated joints and suspected COVID cases.

I think the curtain-shielded cubicle to the left emptied and refilled four or five times while we were there.

Waiting, suffering and uncertainty make ER visits difficult

What were the hardest parts of that long, long wait?

• Always, the uncertainty. Would they be able to help Brian? Would they have to admit him?

We got the sense that the ER docs were doing everything they could to not do that, hoping they could stabilize their patients to the point where they could recover comfortably and more safely at home, away from the reach of COVID. Smart.

• The long hours as the docs tried a variety of pharmaceuticals to see which ones would stabilize Brian’s condition while also addressing his dehydration. Thank heavens for my little portable phone charger and my Kindle — the “Paperwhite” screen on the latter is bigger and less eye-wearying than the one on my ancient iPhone.

• The unyielding “guest” chair in the ER — my sitter was still sore the next day!

• Watching my son suffer until they got his condition pretty much under control and sent him home to his own bed.

• Hearing other people screaming in pain. Our hearts went out to one poor woman in agony who literally screeched, shrieked and screamed at full volume for most of the eight hours.

• Observing helplessly as Brian had a bad reaction to one of the meds they administered. That scene evoked painful memories of advocating for his dad in that same ER room in late 2021; Richard was having a severe anxiety attack not long before he died.

A kindly nurse noticed my resurging grief and urged me to take a break, maybe a quick walk outside. She was right. They helped.

• Hearing a scary scanner communication from a paramedic on an incoming ambulance (we reporters automatically monitor scanner chat). Reportedly, a baby had fallen downstairs and was unresponsive when medics arrived.

Success stories, family and time to (finally) leave

What were the high points?

• Hearing proof that the injured child was very responsive and hollering loudly when paramedics brought him into the ER. It was a great sound to hear, because we felt we could safely assume that the baby was going to survive.

• Brian coming out of his sick fog long enough to give a thumbs’ up and a feeble cheer when he heard that baby hollering at full lung power. “That’s a wonderful sound,” my ill son whispered.

• His repeated urging for me to “go get something to eat, Mom!” I didn’t — a Mom’s prerogative is to stay at her ill child’s side even when that child is full grown. But his love and caring shone through. Did he also want me to go away and quit fussing over him? Well ... maybe a little.

• Hearing the doc ask Brian if he was ready to go home. Ya think? Of course, the time lapse between the question and when we finally were able to stagger out to the van seemed endless — but then, it always does. “Get me out of here!” Brian stage whispered to me.

• And the piece de resistance? When we finally got to leave the ER, having the oh-so-busy, caring and observant doc pause long enough to fist-bump Brian (who had put on his San Francisco 49ers beanie) and tell him, “your team won today, bud!”

PS: Brian was back on his feet a few days later.