Chapter 12 · America the Beautiful

Breakfast at the ER

A campsite feast, a curvy Arkansas road, and a very public consequence

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As we crossed the state line into Arkansas, we watched for the welcome sign. It proudly showed it was the home of our current president at the time, President Bill Clinton. Grandma and I always liked to guess what famous person would be listed on these signs. It was one of our many road trip games.

When we finally made it to the campsite in Arkansas, Uncle Charlie, his wife Brenda, and her parents were there to meet us at our lot and help us set up. This time, Grandma took the help a lot more willingly, ready to put her arm up and forget about the pain that was, by then, I’m sure excruciating. It was an early night for us.

The next morning, we were up early enjoying a huge breakfast with my uncle and his wife. Her parents cooked eggs and bacon, toast, sautéed potatoes, and even pancakes, enough to feed an army on the outdoor stove in the campsite’s common area. It was a pavilion set up like a cafeteria, with several picnic tables lined up in rows, enough to seat at least 50 campers. Breakfast is my favorite meal, and I had eyes for that breakfast feast that practically popped out of my head with hearts, and a stomach that grumbled waiting for a plate. My mouth was watering with anticipation. I dug into that feast like a malnourished soul who had found a paradise of pleasures in the middle of the Sonoran Desert.

While we ate, Grandma asked Uncle Charlie about a nearby urgent care to get her arm X-rayed. We were all concerned at that point that she had potentially broken it when she braced herself during the fall. The closest medical facility was the ER. So we cleaned up the remains of our breakfast, loaded up in my uncle’s Dodge Ram van, and made our way to the nearest emergency room.

Now, the land in Illinois and Indiana was flat nearly as far as the eye could see. Arkansas was not, as it features flat prairies in the north and southeast, the hilly and forested Ozark Mountains, and low-lying river valleys as you get closer to the Mississippi River. The roads were no longer straight and long. Instead, they curved around and through the gentle hills that surrounded us near the campsite.

Uncle Charlie hugged those curves with that big van like a man on a mission.

This didn’t bode well for my belly, overstuffed with that campsite breakfast feast, especially from the back seat where the view of the road was limited. I should mention, motion sickness runs in the family, as my mom is prone to it also. Grandma had warned me, in all fairness, that I probably shouldn’t eat like it was my last meal of the trip, but I can be a glutton for punishment.

I felt my head start to spin about halfway to the hospital. It wasn’t a terribly long drive, thank God, so we made it to the hospital without any incident. Grandma was taken to have her vitals checked, X-rays taken, and quizzed about her symptoms. Uncle Charlie went with her for moral support while I sat in the small waiting room. My head was still spinning, and by this point I had the cold sweats and was going pale. The nausea was quickly taking over, and the only two doors in the waiting room had no labels on them.

Dear Lord, where was the bathroom?

I got up with effort and made my way into the hallway to look for my grandma or someone who could give me directions. There was a janitor cleaning the floors, and Grandma was standing nearby talking to a nurse. Before I could even get my question out, the nausea took over, and the whole breakfast feast exploded out of me and all over the hallway floor.

God, how embarrassing.

Grandma quickly came over to check on me, but we both knew what had happened. I could see the look of I told you so in her eyes while she comforted me, still spewing bacon and eggs all over that freshly mopped floor right in front of the janitor, who had been taking a much-needed break and was now steadily glaring at me with that it never ends expression of someone who’d seen it all in the hallways of the ER.

It was horrible. I ricocheted my way up and down that hallway looking for the bathroom, steadily expelling every bite of that morning feast from my gut, gagging and dry heaving until there was nothing left to throw up. Grandma asked where the bathroom was so she could get me there as quickly as possible, and of course, it was one of those unmarked doors in the waiting room.

The X-rays showed nothing conclusive, with the doctor not finding any evidence of a broken bone. She was in the clear to enjoy the rest of her vacation, with the stipulation of trying to take it easy on her arm until we got home. She didn’t even need a brace.