Catch 21

By Tziri Frank

I would like to emphatically officially state for the record that I am not a pessimist. I am, however, a realist. So I know that it is not just an old wives tale that warns if a phone rings early in the morning it usually means life-altering news. Personal experience has taught me that this is a tried and proven fact that has withstood the test of time, and optimists.

So when the phone rang at exactly 7:00am on Monday morning I knew something was up. It came as no surprise to see on the caller ID (that I hardly ever use for screening purposes!) that the group home where my severely mentally and physically handicapped son-Yossi lives, was calling. Clearly they had waited, for what society would deem a politically correct hour for telephoning, to place the call.

So I sat up straight and made every effort to sound as if I was wide-awake and had been for hours. I cleared my throat a couple of times, began folding the closest pile of laundry, and picked up the receiver.

“Hello,” I said casually, my heart thumping.

“Good morning Mrs. Frank,” responded the purposely-calm voice of my son’s social worker, “you’re probably wondering why I’m calling so early in the morning….”

“Well, it’s always good to hear your voice,” I answered on auto pilot, trying to gauge the level of worry in his voice, “but the thought is crossing my mind.”

“Well,” a nervous cough, a pause, and then, ”Yossi was rushed to the hospital about an hour ago in very critical condition.”

“Oh,” I gulped.

“One of the home’s caregivers is in the hospital with him now, and they’ll remain with him,” rushed the soothing tones on the other end of the telephone line, “but you probably want to get right over to the emergency room as soon as you can.”

“Oh,” I gulped in a small voice, “Right.”

And I went tearing out of the house.

A mere two hours later, I had negotiated my way through rush hour traffic in the City That Never Sleeps. I had also braved my way through the maze of school buses and garbage trucks that add the magical touch of an arcade game to normal city driving. The only thing I had not managed to accomplish was a parking space within a quarter mile of the hospital, but I figured something had to cause me grief, and I was happy to let that be it.

I gathered my school bag that was filled with never-ending school papers that needed to be marked, and my emergency supply of chocolate bars, potato chips, and cookies that I always carry with me. Thus armed, I straightened my shoulders, and headed into the emergency room, prepared to spend the day.

The Pediatric Emergency Room supervisor looked at me blankly when I asked for Yossi Frank.

“Never heard of him,” she grunted, clearly not a loyal reader of Frankly Speaking. She pointed to a crooked sign that said Emergency Room, “try in there.”

So I headed through those doors.

At first I thought I had stepped through the looking glass. Constant ringing bells, blinking lights, no windows to indicate the time of day, and a cacophony of voices greeted me as soon as I stepped through the doors. It sounded like a certain unnamed social establishment where people go to try their luck at suddenly winning a windfall. Except that here the ringing bells did not indicate a monetary win, it indicated the need for some medical, or at the very least, nursing attention. Which all the available doctors and nursing staff bustling about were blithely ignoring.

For a few seconds I stood there trying to make sense out of the chaos and confusion. I was also trying to figure out how I could negotiate my way around the hospital beds that took up every available space in the room. Eventually I waylaid a figure that veered into my path, clad in a nurse’s uniform with little Minnie Mice all over it, and asked her where I could find my son.

“Do I look like the Yellow Pages?” she snapped as she hurried away.

“Actually, you look like an ad for Disney World,” I said, but she had long since departed.

As I stared after her, I saw a possible path through the mass of humanity and machinery and hurried to squeeze my way between the beds. Eventually I managed to lean over a cluttered circular desk that was clearly the hub of all the activity in the room. Plus, it had a warped sign hanging above it labeled Emergency Room Central Medical Desk.

“I’m looking for my son, Yossi,” I said politely.

One individual talking on the phone, and snapping her gum smartly at the same time, glanced at me and then turned her back. Another medical professional who was typing on the computer actually paused in her work to peer at me over funky purple frames before she went back to her keyboard. A third employee went so far as to reach across my nose to grab a file before she stepped on my toe and disappeared into the bedlam.

“Yossi Frank,” I announced loudly to the world at large.

No response.

“I want Yossi Frank!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

There was a sudden silence in the room and for a brief moment I had everyone’s attention. Then they all went back to what they were doing before. But my outburst was not in vain.

“Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Frank, over here,” called the welcome voice of Yossi’s caregiver from around a very dirty curtain directly behind the desk.

I quickly hurried over. At least I tried to, but first I had to roll a stretcher out of the way. Then I had to wait for a police officer to handcuff a patient to his wheelchair. And finally, I had to assist a technician in setting up the portable x-ray machine that was blocking the conduit to my son. Eventually I was able to traverse the three feet from Medical Central to the relative semi privacy behind curtained cubicle number three where Yossi lay.

To put it bluntly, he did not look his best. The lack of his ever-present smile, or consciousness for that matter, told me just how ill he was.

“What’s going on?” I asked the caregiver as I pushed aside the foot of the guy in cubicle number two in order to reach Yossi’s side.

As she was about to answer, Yossi’s bed suddenly shifted to into cubicle number four, the dirty curtain parted, and a serious looking doctor entered. So did a resident. And a medical student. And the nurse in the Minnie Mouse uniform. She promptly glared at me, but I didn’t notice because I was wondering how the poor fellow in cubicle number four was handling the distorted bulk of four human beings shrouded in dirty curtains suddenly sitting on his hospital bed.

“We’re glad you’re here,” said the doctor bringing my attention back to priorities, “we need to make some decisions.”

“We waited for you,” huffed Nurse Minnie Mouse adjusting what appeared to be a red and white polka dot bow in her hair.

“How do you feel about pizza?” asked the resident.

All heads swiveled in his direction.

“I guess I better go,” he mumbled into his cell phone as he fiddled with the various knobs and dials on the assorted machines attached to Yossi.

“Excuse me,” said the medical student to the curtain as he shifted to get off the foot of the poor elderly gentleman in cubicle number four.

“You were saying…,” I prompted the doctor.

“Ahem, yes,” said the doctor frowning at the numbers and beeping sounds emanating from something on Yossi’s chest, “your son needs to be admitted to ICU for further intensive treatment.”

“Oh,” I gulped.

“We can’t stabilize him down here,” added the resident furiously keying the number pad on his phone.

Did he mean Yossi? “Let’s go then,” I said quickly glancing in alarm at the red lights that were now flashing all over Yossi’s monitor.

“He needs to be admitted first,” huffed the nurse, “there are rules to follow you know!”

“I’m sorry,” said the medical student.

I looked at him, thankful that someone understood. But the medical student was apologizing to the curtain for dislodging some tubes that were connected to the person behind it.

“Why don’t you take Yossi upstairs,” I said to the medical conference squeezed into our cubicle, “and I’ll go register him.”

“Well, that’s the problem,” said the doctor, “you can’t.”

“Why not?” I asked in confusion, “I have all his documents, and you’ve got volumes of his previous hospital stays on file.”

“Yes, but ICU won’t make a bed for him,” said the nurse smugly.

“He’s not twenty one, you know,” said the resident into his ringing phone.

Was he talking to me, or the person on the other end?

“I’m sorry,” said the medical student, and he was talking to me.

“It seems we have a Catch 21,” said the doctor with a pitiful attempt at humor.

“Huh?” I said.

And then they explained. Since Yossi had now reached the age of eighteen, he was deemed too mature to grace the curtained cubicles of the pediatric emergency room. Hence the chaotic experience in the regular emergency room we were now living through. However, the adult intensive care unit would not admit anyone under the age of twenty-one. And the pediatric intensive care unit in this hospital would not admit anyone who did not come from the pediatric emergency room. Thus we were stuck in beaureaucratic limbo and welcome nowhere.

“So what do we do,” I asked.

“We frequently find ourselves in this dilemma,” said the doctor with a wise and worried frown, “we really should address the problem. But right now we need you to agree to transfer your son to another facility.”

“There is a hospital across town that is willing to accept him,” said Nurse Minnie Mouse trying to hide her smile.

“I hear they have a very good cafeteria,” said the resident into the cellular appendage that seemed permanently attached to his ear.

“I’m sorry,” said the medical student, “but maybe you’ll be better off there.”

Since he was looking at the huddled figure of the geriatric patient in cubicle number four when he said this I’m not sure whom this line was addressed to. But I was inclined to think he had a point.

And so I agreed. A mere three hours later Yossi was loaded into an ambulance for the harrowing trip across town. Along the way we had to stop twice to administer CPR so he could continue the journey.

“Why did you request to have your son transferred to this distant hospital,” the EMT gasped as he tried to stabilize the patient.

I looked at him for a moment as I pondered the absurdity of the day. Then I shook my head wisely and took a deep breath.

“?????????????????????????” I enunciated, “and that’s all I have to say!”