22. The Ride of a Life - rattlesnake bite PT.2

I stopped in the doorway and watched a flurry of nurses already hard at work fixing up IVs and drawing blood. I'm not squeamish. In all the times we have had or seen blood drawn I've not been moved to tears but today was different.

My husband and my dad, who stood helplessly by the wall, both turned to my presence in the room. I greeted them each with a glance then returned back to my baby on the table. She looked up at me and I tried to smile for reassurance. When her attention was drawn to the needle piercing her arm I lost control and excused myself into the hall.

I sobbed with my back on the wall. When I opened my eyes, my dad stood before me to offer comfort and a nurse followed shortly after. She asked me all of the questions that the men could not have known the answers to. When? Where? How? And if I was SURE it was a rattlesnake? Nobody saw it but me. It never rattled. I didn't have a real flashlight. I wasn't sure

I hesitated.

"It was a rattlesnake."

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My memory goes blank for a time now. Next thing I remember I'm sitting in the bed with Sylvia. I'm holding her in my arms and she is screaming. Eyes wide open, vacant, and bloodshot. Three lines now record the severity of our situation. She arches her back so far I worry she might flip out of my arms. I turn to my husband and he asks to hold her. She screams no fervently.

No! to daddy.

No! to cartoons.

No! to water. Nothing could distract her.

We are all held hostage by the pain of the venom.

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A nurse entered and asked me for my ID and insurance card. I fumbled with my wallet long enough to find my insurance card, and then tried to coax my shaky hands into cooperating with the ID slot before she extended her hand to help. I passed her the wallet as a whole and she quietly took the required materials and left the room again.

The doctor entered next and informed us he was going to inject Morphine and 10 vials of anti-venom into her IV. I watched the relief flow through her body as she relaxed into the strong shoulder of her daddy. He rocked her and hummed our family's special tune as she finally rested.

We took this opportunity to message friends and family asking for prayers with very little explanation. I recorded videos to send home to my mom and the kids. I called home with all minor updates. There was a much-appreciated lull in activity for the next two hours except for the periodic blue line procedure. Vitals were strong. My baby was resting, but not sleeping. We were waiting to see how her body would respond to the anti-venom.

But it kept creeping.

The nurses prodded the swollen tissue and noted the position of the venom within her foot, ankle, and calf.

They called for an ambulance. The request was denied due to overcrowding in the pediatric ward. My heart sank for all of the other suffering mothers that night.

They called a second hospital.

Transport was on its way. We had been in this room now for over two hours, what is another thirty minutes?

The boys in blue arrived and instructed me to transfer Sylvia into their stretcher. Her tiny body didn't even engage the majority of the restraint belts. The EMT secured empty belts across the bed and then we marched solemnly through the hall towards the exit.

I stood back as they loaded the bed backwards into the ambulance and then followed after her. I chose a seat closest to her left hand that peeked out from the blankets. I reached out to hold it and there was no response. She stared blankly at the back window as we pulled away from the building. I gave her soft squishy hand a gentle pulsing squeeze and received a gentle reply. Her eyes rolled across her face to meet mine. I smiled a genuine smile and she squeezed my hand again.

Inside the sterile compartment the air was thick. The EMT sat quietly behind his computer and I spoke softly to Sylvia closely gauging her mood. She said she wasn't in pain anymore. She said she was doing ok. She started to branch out into conversation and even made little jokes now and then. The large man couldn't remain hidden any longer and let out a stifled chuckle. My gaze didn't leave Sylvia when he asked me what her favorite color was.

He stood and opened a long cabinet above his seat. After shuffling around and hming a couple times he passed me an indigo teddy bear sealed in a plastic bag. I showed Sylvia the gift and she said, "That's ok, I have lots of toys at home,"

I was half embarrassed but half proud.

I told her that it was ok to have another because this one was a special bear. He needed a name. We brainstormed. I crudely suggested "Rattlesnake" but that was vetoed. She settled on "Licks" after the tiny pink felt protruding from beneath his little black nose.

From that moment on Licks didn't leave her side.

With the familiar jolting of Grant road I knew we would be arriving at the second hospital soon. No road in Tucson was paved in a straight line, if it's paved at all. The potholes and patch jobs felt like we were landing a commercial jet in a thunderstorm. Sylvia even said so herself. The last time we flew was to visit Tucson in October. The weather was much nicer then.

Even though it was well past sunset, the pavement still radiated the warmth of the long summer day. If I were a snake I would have laid out on the sidewalk too.

The warmth soothed my pores that stood on end. At this point I'm not even sure if it was cold inside the ambulance or if I was coming down from the adrenaline. Likely both.

Again, I watched as they unloaded and then followed the men and their wheely-bed toward the double doors. My eyes never strayed from the back of her headrest. They greeted the night guard who asked if we were expected inside. They assured him we had a bed waiting in the ER.

The other side of the double doors was a relatively quiet scene for what one might expect from an emergency room in Tucson.

"The night is still young," one of the nurses remarked.

It was well past midnight but the night had only just begun.

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