Emma’s appendix/2001

(Emma being released from Valley Children's Hospital, March 2001.)

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I had started working in the IRS as a seasonal in the spring of 2001. Emma was in the first grade when Emma’s appendix burst in March of 2001 when she was 7 years old, and taking care of her, was tumultuous. She was like a feral child, she was vicious at times, biting me, and punching me, she used to tear up the room, crying, she had decapitated Barbies under the bed. She was extremely volatile. I didn’t know how to calm my child down. Her heart was enraged, she cussed at me, and getting her to school was a job in itself. I had to take her on the city bus, and getting her there was next to impossible, even though she was only 7. As soon as the city bus would pull up she would take off and run in the opposite direction. People just thought she was extremely spoiled, but it was more than that. Emma began seeing a therapist through the school in kindergarten. She wasn’t getting any better, she was only getting worse. Momma thought she was just spoiled, as I bought her things, and always took her to the movies. But I knew it wasn’t just that.

When I would take her to the appointments with the gastroenterologist, Emma would scream at me when her name was called out. Sometimes she would strangle me. So, we were given a Social Worker through the hospital because of her disturbing behavior. When we were in the room waiting to be seen, she would say strange things to me, “If you let me bite you, I will feel better.” So, she would bite me on the hand, until she broke the skin.

Keeping a job wasn’t going well. I tried to work at the bank but I couldn’t keep the job, as the day-care was always calling with problems that Emma was doing something wrong jumping the fence at daycare, or cussing some other child out.

As I began working as a tax examiner Emma fell ill. She was having extremely high fevers, and I had to leave work early, it proved difficult as I didn’t own a car, and had to take a taxi to get there quickly to pick her up from Day care. Taxis are not cheap. Mrs. Jeannie the lady from daycare said Emma had a fever and she couldn’t stay. So we took another taxi to momma’s apartment where we lived.

I began reading my Bible again. But I didn’t understand why I couldn’t keep a job, why my child was always sick, and why I couldn’t meet anyone. I was in prayer a lot, just crying on the ground, my tears were like pieces of shredded meat on the floor, it took so much out of me every day just to get to the next morning. Prayer is what strengthened me. Knowing that God was holding me in the palm of His hand is what kept me surviving.

While in day care, Mrs. Jeannie said Emma pretty much did what she wanted, she would play outside with the big kids instead of nap or watch a movie, they couldn’t discipline Emma she was a wild child. I know people blamed me.

I was having a hard time staying at work Mrs. Jeannie was always calling me telling me that Emma was sick, and had a fever again. She was having severe stomach cramps, different from the Encopresis. I prayed that God would help me to keep my job.

One day, Emma became so ill that I had to rush her the her pediatrician Dr. Singh. He was Emma’s pediatrician since birth, a gentle doctor from India who was kind to Emma even when she would scream at him. I really appreciated him. Emma sat on the table, doubled over in pain, gripping her stomach. He touched her stomach and it was tender to the touch.

“She has appendicitis.” He said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Since he knew we didn’t own a car, he made arrangements for a taxi to pick us up and take us to Valley Children’s Hospital. I couldn’t believe it, yet another complication. The whole taxi ride there Emma began to swear at the taxi driver. I silently prayed to God to make the ride go more quickly When we arrived at the hospital, she couldn’t even walk, and she was wheeled into the emergency. We weren’t as lucky with the doctor who saw Emma. He was supercilious from the first moment he came into the room. He happened to be Middle Eastern, whether or not that contributed to his attitude towards me a single mother I do not know, but the repertoire between the two of us was horrible. I would try to ask him questions, and he dismissed or ignored my question altogether. He finally said Emma only needed another enema. She had been taking enemas because of the encopresis.

“She doesn't need another enema her pediatrician Dr. Singh said she has appendicitis.” "Give her a sonogram."

The doctor almost flew into a rage. "Are you going to tell me my business, give her the (expletive) enema, or not." “But I will not give her a Sonogram .” He dismissed us by walking out of the room.

The next morning, Emma was in excruciating pain. I missed work again, and the doctors confirmed it, she had appendicitis. They left her in the room so long that her appendix actually burst. In the evening, she was wheeled into surgery, without my knowledge. I wasn’t even told that she went into surgery. I was irate that they didn’t tell me, after I told them to let me know when she would be taken into surgery as they didn’t let me be with her in the room. Emma came out groggy from the surgery. Mia and momma were there. The oxygen mask was big on her. My heart was overwhelmed with grief seeing my little girl like this. She was admitted to the hospital for a week, to have I.V’s put into her to clean out her system. I lost my job.

The days in the hospital room with Emma were a trial. She was in pain, on pain killers, and she took it out on me. Of course, I knew it was because of the undisclosed illness I suspected she had.

Whenever I tried to comfort her, she would cuss at me to get out of the room. I would go outside and slink against the door crumpled my tears were jagged against my face. I didn’t know how to comfort her. I carried such pity for myself. I knew I was being selfish, because I met a lady whose 12 year old daughter had throat cancer. This was her daughter’s 9th operation, and she was terminal. I wept.

Emma fared badly in the hospital, pulling out her I.V’s, cussing me out to the point she would leave me in tears. She was only 7. At times it seemed like she was, well I won’t write it, but I think you know. I spoke to a Chaplain I was falling apart. I should have prayed and given it to Jesus, but at the time I was reading The Weimer Republic by Hans Momsen since I was a History major. I know pretty stupid, I should have gripped the bible close to my heart. The volunteer grandmas would come in to try and soothe her.

But she told the grandma, “I hate you!”

To which she replied “I love you.”

The stress got to be so much. I should have let The Lord comfort me, but I didn’t. I went into the bathroom, and made a single incision, I write single because that’s all it was. I sat and spoke to a nurse, she asked what happened to my arm, I made the mistake of telling her and she betrayed my confidence. The nurses found out, and every time I would close Emma’s door, they would come and open it. It was suspicious, to me, and I asked them why they were doing that. Until the head nurse told me that they had decided to put me on a 51/50 for a single scratch on my arm.

I was outraged inside, screaming on the inside. “Why did you betray me?”

This was one of the worst times of my life. I was in the PACT Unit while my only child was in the hospital with IV’s. They had to call momma and daddy to go and stay with her. Momma and daddy took turns staying with her, while I was in the Pact unit because of a single scratch to my forearm. I cried out earnestly to Jesus, and I remember He gave me a peace that surpassed all understanding.

I was calm the next morning and was released. But I was not allowed to stay with her the night.

“Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me!

For my soul trusts in You;

And in the shadow of Your wings I will

Make my refuge,

Until these calamities have passed by.

(Psalm 57:1)