I was taking Phoebe to her first physical therapy appointment at a clinic nearby. The office was in a building directly across the street from the local hospital and Sailor, Phoebe, and I trotted in on time to her scheduled appointment. We were directed to the lobby and I set Sailor up with entertainment, opened my book, and Phoebe was quickly called in with her therapist. I was unaware how long the appointment would take, being that it was her first time.
Twenty minutes into our wait, I heard "Code Blue" yelled from one end of the building. It seemed almost unreal. Then again, "Code Blue. Call 911 NOW." I reassured myself with that voice of reason that it couldn't be Phoebe and started to feel sad for the family of whoever was suffering. Then I took note as to how many people were actually in the waiting room. There were two: Sailor and I. I started to sweat, couldn't look at the words on the pages in front of me anymore and started listening to the voices in my head always conscious that Sailor would pick up on it if I were to express concern, worry, or panic.
Meanwhile, an employee from the other end of the building rushes down the hall saying, "Is this real?" (I found out later they had had a Code Blue drill earlier in the day--this was NOT a drill). Then sirens. The EMTs arrive, fire truck, five or so firemen, and others run to the room where "Code Blue" had been called from. I only saw people running past the doorway where we were sitting. It was clear that this was an unusual situation. Medical professionals were panicked, obviously upset. So I watched the mayhem ensue, staring in to space and listening to two voices inside my head: "it couldn't be Phoebe", .."but we are the only one's here in the waiting room?",... "it's only physical therapy"... "but it is her back...could something have happened when she laid down...", and on and on.
Then a woman with a blue coat on and a tag that said 'Silverton Hospital' came into the room. I looked away thinking she was just passing through. But then she stopped, leaned in closely towards me and asked, "Are you momma?" My worst nightmare had come true! "Yes! What!" I screamed. I stammered glaring into her eyes, "What??!! This can't be!" Sailor jumped wide-eyed watching my expression. "My daughter is in there!" The woman stopped for a minute, her eyes were glued to mine, she stuttered, then started shaking her head. "No!" she said. I quickly stated, "We came here for physical therapy, she is in there!"
She put her hand on my arm and said, "Oh, oh, no, no. Your daughter is over in a different room. There is a gentleman here who was accompanied by a woman he calls 'Momma' and I am looking for her. I thought she'd be in the waiting room."
Blood was rushing to every extremity in my body. I was hot. I was shaking. I was relieved. Warm tears filled my eyes and I turned my head. I was crying. I had built up so much anxiety sitting there listening to the chaos, worried about the person and their family and then for me to think, just for one fleeting moment it was my daughter was simply too much. I slumped into the chair in shock. Sailor sat still, confused and unsure of how to react.
Sure enough a few minutes later they locate Momma sitting in her car with other family members. An overweight woman, probably in her 70s, with gray hair and a homely, disheveled look smiled and said she was waiting for her husband because "we were all going to go to pizza when he was done." She had no idea what was going on. Immediately they brought in a nurse to deliver the news of what happened, and fortunately she added that the man had "come back" and was breathing normally and seemed fine. Momma was clearly worried, but calm. They had to take her husband in an ambulance to the ER for observation.
I sat numb. Relieved for her. Relieved for me. And oh so grateful when Phoebe finally came out smiling, happy, relaxed after her appointment. I grabbed her, gave a big hug and told her the story. She laughed and laughed. "A woman named Momma?! What are the odds?!" Sailor chimed in to say I was "freakin' out". We had ourselves quite a moment in that lobby. The receptionist giggled on the way out, "Oh, silly girls!" unaware of what had happened, but sharing the joy of our contagious relief.
I will never forget it. It was my heart that stopped still that day, just for a moment. And then I was lucky enough to be revived and returned to my familiar reality. Sometimes reality is a tragedy but this time just wasn't my turn. Thank goodness for today.
