“There’s no time,” Brian shouted back, understanding too well that by the color of her lips, she’d been seizing much too long. “You’ll have to drive us to MMH Inwood.”
As he tried to scoop up Juliette, which he found extraordinarily difficult with the strength of her contractions, Camila disappeared. When Brian finally got the child into his arms, he found it equally as hard to carry her through the doorway and particularly down the stairs. Running along the main hallway on the ground floor and into the kitchen, he was relieved to see that Camila had left the door ajar for him. Outside, she had also opened the rear door of the car, and she was now in the driver’s seat with the engine running.
Ducking headfirst into the car while clutching Juliette against his chest, he managed to climb in and collapse back against the seat. Holding the bucking child as best he could, he reached out and pulled the door closed.
“Go, go!” he shouted, making sure Juliette’s head couldn’t hit any surfaces as Camila rapidly backed out of the driveway and accelerated up West 217th Street. Again, when Camila turned left onto Park Terrace East and then right onto West 218th Street, Brian had to use all his strength to keep himself upright and Juliette’s head safe.
Although the ride was just minutes, with Camila merely slowing at red lights instead of stopping, the eight-minute journey seemed to take a lifetime as he held his seizing daughter against his body. “Please stop, please stop,” Brian murmured over and over again until Camila pulled up to the emergency entrance with squealing tires.
Leaping out of the driver’s seat, Camila ran around the car to help open the door for him. It again took all of his strength to exit the car with Juliette in his arms. He then ran for the entrance, impatiently waiting for the automatic sliding door to open enough to run inside.
Despite the hour, there were more than a dozen people in the waiting room. Without the slightest hesitation, Brian ran directly up to the counter. Immediately one of the triage nurses, upon seeing Juliette’s convulsions, waved for him to follow her back into the treatment area. Within seconds she guided Brian at a run into one of the Trauma 1 rooms.
“Put her here on the table!” the nurse ordered, patting the location with a gloved hand.
Brian laid Juliette down on the sheet-covered exam table, holding on to her lest her convulsions caused her to fall off onto the floor. To his relief word must have spread quickly because other medical personnel flooded into the room and pressed in around the table. All were dressed in scrub clothing. One youthful woman quickly asked Brian how long Juliette had been seizing.
“I don’t know,” Brian cried. “I heard a kind of thumping from my bed for maybe five or ten minutes and couldn’t figure out what it was. How long it had been going on before it woke me up, I have no idea. Then it took about ten minutes to get here. I’m afraid it’s probably been going on at least thirty minutes, though probably more.”
“Okay!” the woman said quickly, redirecting her attention to the medical people in the room. “We need an IV immediately or intraosseous access. Start oxygen and an oximeter! We’ll need an ECG and glucose and let’s get a body temperature, BP, and intubation setup. Draw up four milligrams of midazolam. Let’s go!”
As a flurry of activity erupted around his daughter, a nurse pulled him back and away from the table. Brian resisted, not wanting to leave Juliette. “I’ve had EMT training,” Brian said in his defense.
“That doesn’t matter,” the nurse said. She handed him a face mask. “You need to leave! And you have to check in properly and provide the patient’s name.”
“She’s been seen here several times,” Brian sputtered while putting on the face mask. “In fact, she was seen here less than twenty-four hours ago. Her name is Juliette Murphy. Just look it up on your tablet.”
“You have to check in at the front desk today as well,” the nurse said evenly, trying to calm him down.
“But why?” Brian demanded. He knew he was beside himself and not thinking clearly. “I’m telling you, she was just seen yesterday by Dr. Arnsdorf, and Dr. Kramer the day before. Really, look it up! You can get all you need to know and then some.” As he spoke, he was trying to keep his eye on Juliette over the nurse’s shoulder. There was a lot of frantic activity, which encouraged him and terrified him in equal measure.
“What was found on those two occasions?” the nurse asked.
“Nothing,” Brian snapped. “Nothing was found and nothing was done. Both times we were here for more than three hours, and they wouldn’t even do a damn blood test. They insisted her symptoms were psychosomatic. Obviously, they weren’t!” He noticed more medical personnel arriving, enhancing the sense of a developing crisis and magnifying his fears. More urgent orders were called out, including a call for anesthesia and neurology consults.
“Do I have to call security?” the nurse asked calmly but decisively. Gently she urged Brian to move toward the hallway.
Finally, sensing the inevitable, Brian allowed himself to be led from the trauma room and then out into the waiting area. His last image of Juliette was a gaggle of medical staff hovering over her convulsing body. A few minutes later he found himself waiting to talk to one of the intake clerks. As he was waiting, the nurse who had urged him out of the trauma room returned with a set of scrub pants, shirt, and slippers. Despite his state of anxiety and irritation, he thanked her and immediately put the outfit on over his pajama pants.
When he finally got to talk to a clerk, he felt stupid even bothering to list Peerless Health as his health insurance carrier, but he did anyway. With that out of the way, he found a seat and tried to calm himself. As he waited, time dragged. Each minute was emotionally exhausting, and he tried not to think about what was happening back in the treatment room.
A short time later he was shocked to see Camila walk into the waiting area and search for him. He stood up and waved. Once she saw him, she came over, carrying a shopping bag.
“How is she?” she asked when she got close, her face creased with worry.
“I haven’t heard anything yet but hoping I will soon,” Brian said. “I’m surprised to see you. I didn’t expect for you to come back until I called.”
“I didn’t expect to come back, either,” Camila said. “But when I got back to the house, I remembered that you were in your pajama bottoms. So I got a pair of jeans, a shirt, socks, and shoes out of your room.” She held up the shopping bag. “But I see they have supplied you with some hospital clothes, so maybe you don’t want them. I can take them back.”
“You’re so kind,” he said, moved by her thoughtfulness. “Thank you, but these scrubs will do, and I don’t want to go through the angst of finding a place to change.”
“Understandable,” Camila said. Then, reaching into her pocket she added: “Oh, also, I brought your phone from your bedside table. I know I’d feel naked without mine.”
“That I can use,” Brian said. He took the phone and turned it on. “Again, thank you for your kindness. I don’t know what Juliette and I would do without you. Truly.” Despite the fear of not knowing what was currently happening with his daughter, he marveled at the luck of having teamed up with Camila. He truly felt she’d become like family given the way she clicked with Juliette, especially with all the crises they had gone through lately.
“It’s been a mutual win-win,” Camila said. “Do you need me to stay and keep you company? If so, there’s a problem with the car. It’s right out front in a no-parking zone.”
“No, I’m okay,” he said. “I’ll call you when we are ready to come home.”