Mom was on the verge of collapse at this point. She was sure
she had food poisoning; I’m still working with the virus theory. We managed to
get her into the cab with a driver who didn’t know where he was going.
Fortunately, I deciphered one of my sets of scribbles to pronounce the address
of the nearby ER. I was strategizing and began barking more orders. “Mom, I
want you to go and set down on the curb and I will take care of getting Boop
sorted.” So, I managed baby, diaper bag and stroller, and got Boop situated. As
I was getting us all out, I saw a lady from the hospital pushing a wheelchair.
I quickly looked up and thought, “Thank you, sweet Jesus!” I called over to her
to help us. Mom was getting sick on the curb, which by some great fortune to
the people of San Francisco was right at the storm drain. We were drawing
attention of folks walking by. A husky woman hollered out at my mother from her
utility truck as she waited at the red light. Her expression was of disgust,
but I think she was genuinely concerned, “Is someone helping you?” I was a
little annoyed as I was trying to get the baby in her stroller. “Yes, I am!”
The taxi took off with us on the curb. I am relieved. We
made it! Meanwhile the lady with the wheelchair promptly informs us that she
can’t help us. She said we needed to go get the taxi back to take us around the
corner to the entrance of the ER, that we were at the front entrance. The taxi
was already down the block, and I had a 13 month old in a stroller and a mom getting
sick in the storm drain. With that I lost it, “This is some welcome to San
Francisco! Is this how you treat people that visit your city? My mother is
sick, and you won’t help us!?!” With that, 2 passers-by offered to help. One
was thinking she would run in to the front information desk and request another wheel chair. But about that
time, the little lady with the wheel chair got off her phone and said she had
approval to take my mother.
No comments:
Post a Comment