Ask for an alternative. You may find a safer and cost effective solution.
“The doctor wants to take an X-ray of the tube to make sure it is positioned correctly in his stomach. They need to confirm Norwalk’s ER procedure.
She has got to be kidding me. Another X-ray? When my husband had pre-cancer nodules on his thyroid as an adult, a doctor-friend speculated he probably had too many X-rays as a child. My father-in-law says that my hypochondriac mother-in-law took Steve routinely for an X-ray to check his lungs for bronchitis. Now, Steve has had thyroid surgery and parathyroid surgery. That pediatrician might be long gone, but my husband lives with the results of too much testing. There is no way my kid is going to be so over-radiated that he ends up with cancer in 30 years. My exhaustion and skepticism lead me to shout “No!”
I never shout and Gary looks up at me. The nurse says, “We need to know that the NG tube is positioned correctly.”
Does she think I didn’t hear her the first time? Or maybe she thinks if she just keeps repeating the same thing my response will change?
I tell her, “Look, I am finding it very difficult to believe that the only way you can tell if this is in correctly is with an X-ray.” I am firm, not even trying to be friendly. I look like a dried out drowned rat and feel the same. My wet sneakers squeak as I walk closer to her.
“That’s what the doctor wants,” she says.
I’ve seen this before. The protocol train provides her comfort with a clear track to follow. I get it. There needs to be consistent processes. There need to be rules of authority. There shouldn’t be mavericks running loose. But, this does prevent people from thinking for themselves.
“Look, there will be no X-ray. Find another way,” I insist.
“So, may I state this correctly? You are refusing medical treatment for your son.”
Here we go again. Only this time, I see the clearness of her question and guilt-producing tactic. Either I’ll change my mind or, if I do not, the hospital will document my response and protect itself legally. I don’t even find it hard to muster up the courage to say, “Yes, no X-ray. Find another way.”
She leaves the room without smiling. Gary screams that he doesn’t care about another an X-ray. He just wants this NG tube out. To him, the point I am making about excessive radiation seems to be missing his. Gary switches to the silent treatment. I don’t know which I hate more, this or his heavy metal version of “I hate it.” Time could not be moving any slower. The nurse finally opens the door. She repeats that the doctors wanted an X-ray to be done in the ER, but since I am refusing treatment, they will be moving Gary, now, to a room upstairs.
She looks at Gary and says, “The ER doctor said the tube stays in.” She is letting us both know we lost the battle. But, I am glad he didn’t get the X-ray. Where else could this tube be but in his stomach? Is there another path from the esophagus in the body I don’t know about? As an attendant wheels Gary into the elevator, there is no excitement to see the room. As the floor nurse points us to our new home, for I have no idea how long, I notice that the day bed for me seems to at least have a better mattress. The last one had those separate cushions that I tightly tucked a sheet over each night to keep my body from falling between the cushions onto the wooden frame. This one has a single cushion, no sagging possible. Why would the hospital even have day beds with separate cushions, when there is a better way? I bet no one in purchasing ever slept on one of those beds.
Gary’s new nurse enters. She looks like she graduated yesterday. I hold back my question to find out if this is her first patient. I know the importance of the nurses and don’t want to piss her off right away. Maybe later, but I should at least try to be nice.
“I understand they are concerned about whether the NG tube is placed properly,” she says, smiling.
“Yeah,” I say.
“I understand you said no getting an X-ray?”.
“Yeah.”
“I learned in nursing school that the PH of the stomach is in the one-to-three range. I bet I can get some PH papers and take some of the stuff out from the tube and then I can test it.”
“Really?” I can’t believe there can be a solution as simple as this.
“Sure! Let me get the papers.” She races out of the room seeming rather excited.
Gary, who hasn’t spoken to me since we were in the ER, reiterates that his issue is not the X-ray. He wants the tube out. If the X-ray shows it is in the wrong place and they take it out, then getting the X-ray is worth it. To him, I am missing the entire point and I am a bad mother. I’m acting like a radiation maniac. In less than two minutes, the nurse is back and she goes to the bag that collects the stuff from Gary’s stomach and puts some of the cloudy gel-like liquid in a cup. Without speaking, she takes a PH strip and places it in the cup.
Gary looks over and she brings the color guide over to him. She says if it turns in the reddish area we know that the PH level is in range and that means the stuff is from your stomach and the tube is in properly. It takes seconds for the strip to turn scarlet. So, the weird liquid is the acid from his stomach. I am thrilled but also perplexed.
How come they couldn’t do this in the ER? Isn’t this cheaper than an X-ray? I know it is safer. And faster.
