When the triage nurse finally called us back, she asked the question that was repeated a million times over the next few months. "What brings you here today?"
Yes, I understand the need for repetition. Histories must be taken over and over again so each caregiver can be alert for anything that might have been left out.
Here's how Tanner's history usually went: On May 24, Tanner came home from cross-country practice ("and weight-lifting, Mom. Don't forget I was bench-pressing"), and said his vision was blurry in his right eye. He covered his eye with his hand, testing it out, and it was still blurry.
See any stars? Any headaches? Those were the top two questions. Dizzy? No, no, and no.
Tanner was taken back to get a CT scan. I didn't go with him, just sat looking at the zig-zagged television screen. Apparently Tanner's eyes weren't the only thing not working.
There were two nurses sitting outside our glass-walled room. I became acutely aware of what they were saying: " ... detached retina ... surgery ..." I stuck my head outside. "You think it might be a detached retina?" This actually brought me some relief. There was a diagnosis. I had heard about detached retinas, I knew they could be repaired, somehow. Tanner would be OK.
No, the nurses said. They were just talking about possible causes. They wouldn't make a diagnosis.That was the doctor's job.
When Tanner came back, all he wanted to do was sleep. It was after midnight by then. I figured he wouldn't be going to school, but I didn't know what our next step was.
The doctor came back into the room. She had the results back from the CT scan. No sign of a bleed, but she did not have a diagnosis. She suspected a detached retina, but referred us to a local ophthalmalogist. This was an urgent situation, but not an emergent one, she said. Tanner would not have to be admitted to the hospital.
On the way home, Tanner was hungry. I bought him Taco Bell.
more! more!
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