“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.” Right. Uh-huh.
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 Glennon 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, they 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. There would be no swimming this time, everyone was too PO'd and exhausted. 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.
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You're probably wondering why the story is entitled Lost in Peoria. I'll finally tell why tomorrow; stay tuned.
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