Mayo
You're referred to as a "9" or an "8" or another secret charting system, which, if you're anything like me, you crack the code immediately by looking left and right, and listening to comments.
We aren't alone. Half the folks we see are paying themselves. This is s last resort spot - think "destination" healthcare where they are expanding! It's on the front page of all the papers. Genomes, biomes and hormones. Everyone who works here is sharply dressed, educated and polished. Reputation is like the Ritz, Disney and The Met all rolled into one. Let's face it, the art here is worth the trip. I digress...
Mayo. Where the world comes for amazing, state-of-the-art care. Where you may wait, like us, a fifty with an 8-yr. old for five hours (yesterday), to see someone as a "standby" patient (called, "checkers") and not see anybody. Because, as it turns out, they are human. And nice smiley face lady forgot to mark our chart. I had a complete breakdown (in the privacy of the public restroom)... And poor G became incontinent.
He's scared. I'm scared. And he's already figured out the problem with those who "have not"--- and he's saying some profound things about it. My heart just aches. How can this be that we have to wait forever at home and forever here, too? Don't they want to help us?
There's this... Looks like a grand resort lobby. I must say... I'm not a big Disney fan. But this is the Disney model translated into healthcare. The only thing missing is a fast pass wristband and a Jungle Cruise. There are tours (of the art and architecture), and please forgive me when I say, so what!? When you're not feeling well, seeing Chihuly and other famous works is nice, but it's an alternate universe of reality. The most fascinating thing Gerard saw today was a push button phone that he begged to dial.
The best part about today is we got to see a magnificent pediatrician who I'd love to pack in my suitcase. She treated me like a peer and G like her son. Our GI doc called it in as a favor after hearing about our dreadful first tow days. It helped. A lot. We have a new plan for tests and labs and visits. And yes, that will be $750 for a first-time consult for one hour. One solid, ham-packed hour of the most thorough medical review we've ever had. No leaving, no interruptions. And I'm so happy that Gerard slept through 40 minutes of the exam because he's so darned tired. She could see that. And she noticed how charming and animated he was before he just crashed.
Now prayers that a few more donations trickle in so we can remain a few more days to complete the process. We have put down $12,000 and that doesn't include travel, food, hotel negotiated rate, other medical expenses and laundry. It's a vacation budget of a lifetime. And it's no vacation. I've slept 4-5 hours a night. It's just not what a small boy should be doing for his summer vacation.
Oh, and he fell flat on his back playing on the playground today on a zip line type contraption. Scared me to death. Just being in a hospital environment changes everything. He's scattered and disoriented. Bruised, but OK.
Image: 18 stalls for admissions. Billing is done there. At least 50 people are lined up. Typical traffic pattern.
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