(Ch. 12 of my story of how I became deaf…)

I was not present for much of the paperwork that the ER nurse made my stepfather fill out. It was clear upon our entrance that my condition gave me the priority to be seen. Within minutes, I was whisked off to a room in a wheelchair and asked to lie down on the examination bed. It was low to the ground, rather than high up, which I was thankful for because I barely had the energy to move out of the chair and onto the bed. I rolled slowly, like oatmeal from a spoon, in one thick lump.

I remember a nurse taking my temperature and blood pressure while my body shook and my teeth chattered. The nurse said there would be a doctor in to exam me soon, and she left to get me a blanket. In the meantime, I was to undress and put on the hospital gown with the back open. I remember lying there, helpless, unable to retrieve an ounce of energy to pull off the clothes I had worked so hard to put on just moments ago.

A short time later, Roger entered the room, finally done with the paperwork, proving we had insurance coverage, which I’m sure he thanked his lucky stars for at some point. He leaned over to me and gently stroked my hair. Tears now slipped from my eyes for the first time, and I felt fear. My body was out of control and we had no idea why. Roger hung around as the ER doctors poked and prodded me with needles to try to find out what was causing the rising fever.

At about eight-thirty that morning, Roger left to call Mama. “Hon,” he said with great urgency, “you’d better get on down here quick! They’re talking some heavy shit! Her white cells are off the charts, her fever is still climbing and they want to do a spinal tap on her! The ER doctors won’t do it. They want us to have our own Internist to take over. Get on down here!” He urged her.

Roger returned to my room and told me Mama was on her way to the hospital and would be there real soon. It made me cry. As grateful as I was for Roger’s valiant watch and support, I needed my Mama nearby me. “Just hang in there, Hondu,” he said, in a soft, low voice, as he gently wiped away my tears. I always liked when he called me “Hondu.” He always had nicknames for us kids. Though a few of them were rather degrading, some of them, like “Hondu,” were nonsensical endearments.

Since I had known him, Roger had a history of being an unpredictably angry man. He had lost his first wife to cancer and I think he carried a lot of unexpressed anger and grief still from that loss. He was kind of like a volcano that boils with rising heat for a long time until it finally explodes when you least expect it. Yet, as I grew older, Roger’s rumble seemed to soften more. Perhaps it was because we were all growing up and becoming more responsible for ourselves, lightening his load. He and Mama had 4 teenagers in each year of high school at one point, in addition to my little sister who was 10 years younger than me. Raising teenagers is really tough. Raising a blended family of teenagers is even tougher. Rivalry, jealousies, name-calling and mistrust were prevalent. I know he and Mama did the best they could with what they knew. But, Roger’s way of dealing with conflict was to get loud and angry and threatening. He could be pretty scary. Maybe he thought being powerful and overbearing made him appear strong and in control. But, I knew he was at his strongest when he was being gentle, and he was usually gentle when he called me “Hondu.”

After Mama got off the phone with Roger, she immediately began calling around to get me a doctor who would take over my case. She called an older Internist she used to work for, but he was unavailable. Then she thought of Dr. Keller (*name changed here on for confidentiality), an Internist, her Amway Distributor, and friend. I used to baby-sit for his children on occasion. When Dr. Keller agreed to take my case, Mama ran for her car and sped to the hospital.

Meanwhile, my stepfather once again, had to help me get dressed. As I leaned heavily on his shoulders, he helped me out of my clothes and into the hospital gown. I remember wishing we had such closeness over the past 5 years that we had become a blended family. I fully trusted him at that moment, and was filled with gratitude for his strong shoulders to lean on.

(Footnote: Don’t give up on the story yet. It has been important for me to share what life was like before I became deaf so that people understand the significant transition that occurred when I became deaf — a transformation I not only understand and accept, but also celebrate! Keep on reading! These middle chapters entitled: Deaf or Death tell the dramatic story of the illness that took my hearing. Keep reading! More coming soon…)

Posted by LaRonda on Friday, July 20th, 2007 at 7:49 am.