Lost in Peoria
Or How I Spent My Summer Vacation
By Kelly

The following story is real. No names have been changed. No details have been exaggerated…sadly.

We left on a sunny clear Thursday morning to U2 singing “It’s a Beautiful Day.” No kidding, it’s true. The 10-hour drive (including stops) on the way down to St. Louis was entirely uneventful. I think we were so happy to be in a car with air conditioning (rental) that nothing could bother us!

When we arrived in St. Louis that night, we decided it was of the utmost importance to try St. Louis-style ribs. So we stopped at a barbecue place, ate supper, and checked into the Airport Hilton. The room was not exactly what I would have imagined a Hilton to be, having never stayed in one, but no worries, we were on vacation! We promptly went to bed and were promptly awakened around 1 or 2 a.m. (and for seven hours afterward) by the wretched sounds of a two-year-old retching.

Next morning, thinking giving her a muffin would cure this vomiting streak (I don’t know where my head was at that point), we let Emme have an apple cinnamon muffin and then go swimming. Like I said—WHERE WAS MY HEAD????? Fortunately we didn’t have any episodes of emesis during our stay in the pool, but as soon as we arrived at the pool, noticing there were no clean towels in the swimming area (but plenty of used ones lying around amidst the empty candy bar wrappers), Conrad went to ask the concierge to please bring us some pool towels.

Fast forward one hour and fifteen minutes later. The kids are screaming, tired, cold, and not able to leave because we have no towels. Finally, “Screw it,” said I. “We are walking back to the room without towels.” So two adults with their visible rolls of flesh (one with diseased-looking limbs) pull two screaming daughters through the lobby of the Airport Hilton…dripping pool water all the way. I decided to stop and tell the concierge that I was none too happy with the service we had (not) been provided. He took one look at my psoriasis-covered limbs and shuddered.

So we checked out of the hotel and decided to go make sure we could find our way to Our Lady of the Snows before we ate or did any sightseeing. Except that as soon as we got there, Emme continued on with her vomiting streak (in the car) and literally could not stop. She was burning up, so the decision was made that we would have to find a hospital to at least get her checked out and make sure she didn’t have anything serious. This was the decision that would color the rest of our vacation.

We drove straight into a suburb of St. Louis, thinking that it would be our best bet, not knowing that the phrase “East Saint Louis” had significant connotation in the minds of St. Louisans. As we were driving, Hannah made the observation: “Mom, this town sure has a lot of broken windows!” We pulled into an ER. Not the type to stereotype, but a realist all the same, Conrad took one look at the mass of teenagers (wearing winter coats in the 103° heat and hugging their crotches to keep their pants from falling down) moving slowly yet confidently toward this brand new Sonata with the out-of-state plates and decided he would stay with the car while I checked Em in.

My first memory of Kenneth Hall Regional Hospital that afternoon was that of the bulletproof glass separating me from the receptionist. And the security guards. My next memory is that of the other patients, the majority of whom were being led in handcuffs and shackles on their feet. In the actual ER, the doctor confidently assured me that this was probably just some virus and she would be okay after resting a couple days. Then she flipped through some pages.

“OH. You work at the Mayo Clinic???” I answered in the affirmative. “Weeeellllll, you know, to be sure that she doesn’t have an obstruction in her bowel or something wrong with her lungs, we’re going to have to do some x-rays. And probably some blood tests too.”

Fast forward two hours, and Emme and I are in the back of an ambulance heading toward the children’s hospital in St. Louis. We were being transferred because of her “bowel obstruction” noted on the x-rays. After waiting in traffic on a bridge over the river for 90 minutes, we arrived at Cardinal Glenon Children’s Hospital. At least I can say it was a much better atmosphere than the last place we were at! And Emme had fun, too. They had a playroom. These new doctors assured us that there was nothing on the x-rays to suggest a bowel obstruction and wondered out loud if the previous doctors had their heads screwed on correctly. “East St. Louis,” they all said, shaking their heads, “why in the world would you go there?” Still, the felt it best for her to stay overnight to continue the IV fluids.

Saturday morning she and I awoke in the hospital, and she was discharged. Dx: Food poisoning. Conrad and Hannah came and got us and we headed back to the retreat center to (re-)start our vacation! We actually had a really great time meeting everyone and hanging out at The Snows. In fact, the only adverse event of that day and the first half of the next was that after communion Conrad put the kneeler down on my sandaled foot while Hannah jumped on it—the kneeler, that is. The giant claw-shaped bruise on my foot will forever remind me of the church at Our Lady of the Snows.

The point at which I began to lose my voice was right during lunch on Sunday. A common malady, but when you are actually experiencing it, it is maddening.

After the retreat was officially over, we went to the arch, because you can’t go to St. Louis and not go to the arch. It was fun, but it was hot. We had a nice conversation while in line to go to the top with a family from Cleveland who looked and dressed like they were from Hollywood. My favorite was the dad, dressed in pale blue linen, who wore his hair like Stevie Wonder and had on wheat-colored pimp boots. He ended up bailing out of the little pod elevators before we headed to the top, I think he was claustrophobic.

But I digress. I think our favorite time of the whole vacation came next, hanging out at Jen and Dave’s house that Sunday night. It was gorgeous, and even better, air-conditioned! She was so nice to do our puke-y laundry for us. I could barely speak by that point. Conrad did most of the talking for us anyway, and Hannah sure had fun.

That night we stayed back at the “Bad Hilton,” as I had now termed it. No swimming this time. The noteworthy incident in this portion of the trip was that at 11:00 p.m., while driving in St. Louis, Conrad’s contact fell out. We never did find it, even though we scoured the car and the entrance to the hotel where he first got out. There would be no swimming this time, everyone was too p***ed off and exhausted.

After checking out the next morning, we joined Jen, Charity, Suso, and their families at the Children’s Museum. The kids had a wonderful time, and I’m sure I would have, also, had there not been 300 children running around like banshees J I love children, but between the noise, the heat, not being able to speak to the adults, and losing Hannah a couple times…my head was about to explode.

The kids were having Magic Meltdown Time after that, and we decided it was time to go. The trip home started out innocently enough. We were almost a third of the way there. I didn’t know that getting in one little wrong lane would cause us an added three hours on our trip. We accidentally went to Peoria, Illinois. Not a problem, we would just stop and eat supper and find our way back to the right road. Did I mention we didn’t have a map?

All of the sudden from the back seat: “Mom, look, I have funny spots on me!” I don’t think Conrad and I could have whipped our heads around any faster. There they were, big blotches up and down Hannah’s leg. We would need to get her Benadryl while we were lost in Peoria, and then we were sure she would probably be okay. So we found a CVS Pharmacy. We let Hannah walk but made Emme stay in the cart.

***Warning: The following is not for the faint of heart, if you have never been a parent***

“DAD! Emme has poop on her shirt and the cart and the floor!” I guess Emme’s not going for four days in a row should have warned us. But it didn’t. I’m sure we were a hilarious sight trying frantically to wipe up the mess off the cart and the floor. I rushed her to the bathroom and took about 30 minutes to clean her up. It was disgusting. I couldn’t handle it—I broke down in fits of hysterical laughter there on the CVS Pharmacy bathroom floor. It could only happen to us!

The good news is that after the Benadryl, Hannah was fine. And Emme was happy as could be running around in just a diaper.

The bad news is that we drove around Peoria for about an hour arguing about which way to get out of Peoria. We are very good about arguing about directions; we’ve had lots of practice. The only thing different was that I had to argue in a whisper, and eventually I succumbed to pressure and let Conrad buy a map. The map showed us that the fastest way home was another hour out of our way. So we took it.

Now. We were finally on the right road, and the kids were in the back seat asleep for the night. No one was throwing up. No one had an allergic reaction to some unknown substance. Everyone had pooped. I still couldn’t talk, and Conrad couldn’t see out of his left eye, but three out of five ain’t bad. You’d think all would be just swell.

And it was, until the storms started. Conrad was driving. It was dark. He was blind in one eye. We couldn’t even see enough to pull over to the side of the road, and the water was about three inches covering the interstate. This lasted from somewhere in Illinois until somewhere over the Wisconsin line. The good news is that we had money for the toll.

When it stopped raining about 10:00 p.m., I took over driving while Conrad went to sleep for the night. Somehow I made it home, rolling into --deleted-- at 3:12 a.m. I don’t know how I did it, though, as I don’t remember anything about those last five hours. I did realize, though, how I probably lost my voice. I couldn’t sing along to the radio or anything, as I couldn’t sing. But on the way down, the girls and I were singing our hearts out…all ten hours of the trip. That could have been it.

Someone once said, “No vacation goes unpunished.” I concur.