A Shoulder Popping Good Time

“Call respiratory and get them down to room 20,” the more experienced nurse said to her younger male co-worker. The pit of my stomach pinched me. It really was serious. They were sending someone to monitor my son’s breathing. The nurse was looking at a procedure manual, literally making sure they were going by the book, because they were about to knock out Sergio and put his shoulder back in its socket. You know–just another easy peasy day in the Celebration ER in Mickey land.

Sergio had just started his shift at the Walt Disney World Kennel. Yes, some people bring pets on vacation with them, and there are locals who live nearby who bring their pets for boarding, daycare, and grooming. Sergio was handling two rambunctious dogs when one got away from him. His instinct was to grab the leash however he could. So, he basically ended up sliding into home plate to get the leash. He felt his shoulder dislocate.

I was already a wreck before I heard that “respiratory” was needed, as was Liz, my DIL. Sergio, the one in extreme pain, was super nervous. I was so glad the staff needed to consult a notebook before manhandling my boy. In their defense, they needed to review how to document things more than how to actually do them, but I digress.

“So, I will be pushing the propofol?” The younger male nurse asked while injecting some much needed morphine into Sergio’s IV. Sergio’s pain level went from 7 (I think it was at least 11 but I can’t answer for him anymore) to “I’m not really feeling anything.”

I keep mentioning that the nurse is a young man because, as most medical people do to me now, he looked about 12. I wanted to ask him if he had his Bar Mitzvah yet. And he was going to pump the Michael Jackson death drug into my baby boy. My baby boy is 27, but still!

And they were actually doing this in the ER treatment room where Liz and I were sitting with Sergio. I didn’t want to watch this. I CANNOT see my son in pain. So, when the doctor and respiratory arrived, I did what any mother of the year would do; I went out into the hall and paced.

In my defense, this was a PROCEDURE that required my son to be zonked. Zonked is anesthetized in Gen-X terms. People should not watch their loved ones undergo PROCEDURES. Well, at least moms shouldn’t.

Liz wanted to stay with him, which was very kind and loving of her. This was good because she was able to hear the nonsense that came out of his mouth while under the influence of propofol.  

He started out by asking to watch Family Guy, as one does when heavy drugs are in one’s system. This was not an option in this particular treatment room. They had a big x-ray machine in there but no TV. So, then, he started speaking gibberish. I don’t blame him. If I can’t watch my show, I’m not talking to anyone either. Liz reported that Sergio occasionally said, “Ouch!” between gibberish.

Once the shoulder was back in the socket, they took roughly 2,387 x-rays of the boy with that handy machine in his room. They had taken x-rays before the procedure, too. This is when Liz came out to the hall to tell me how everything went. He remembers nothing. When we went back in, I told Sergio that Liz had recorded everything and it was already on “The Tik Tok.”

I’m 52; I have to put “the” in front of everything.

It’s not on The Tik Tok or The Insta or The Facebook. No videos were taken, and I got permission to share this.