A hospital vending machine brought me back to ER visits with my son

Packing my lunch is necessary because my schedule as a hospice chaplain can change quickly. I keep food and drinks in an ice chest in my car because it can get hot here in New Mexico. When I get a call to see a patient whose passing is imminent, time is of the essence. If I don’t take lunch or snacks, I find myself hungry with low blood sugar and no focus.

Sometimes, though, I think I can manage with only coffee and water. I recently regretted my decision.

After a patient home visit, I received a call to go to the bedside of an imminent patient in the hospital. I visited with the family and prayed for the patient as he was preparing to be removed from a ventilator. It is always a sacred, somber time.

As I left, I felt panic.

My head was throbbing, and I broke out in a sweat. I had not eaten. The only fast option was the vending machine, and thankfully, the M&M’s had me feeling better within a few minutes. But something caught me by surprise in the hospital lobby as I watched the candy drop to the bottom of the machine.

Standing there, surrounded by the smells of the hospital, I was transported back to the times I spent in the emergency room with my sons. But I’m at the hospital several times a week, so why was this day triggering?

Hospital sights, sounds, and smells trigger a flashback

I spent many long nights in emergency waiting rooms when my sons, Julian, 29, and Caeleb, 20, were little. They both have severe hemophilia A, and Caeleb also has an inhibitor.

In the early days of Julian’s diagnosis, ER visits involved a clinician administering clotting factor, then my husband and I waiting for hours to speak to the doctor. The wee hours of the morning seemed endless.

I always packed a bag for Julian filled with toys, a blanket, and snacks to keep him entertained. At first, I didn’t think to pack anything for my husband and me, but I quickly learned to take things for us, too. The only form of nourishment available in the middle of the night was found in a vending machine.

Going to the machine was a distraction. The walls of the exam room often felt like they were closing in, and a trip to get snacks offered some breathing room.

Those ER visits with Julian are memorable, as I was a new parent who never imagined I’d need to bring my baby to the hospital. But I soon learned that, with hemophilia, such trips would become part of our lives. The newness and joy of meeting my baby’s needs were often overshadowed by the presence of the bleeding disorder. Those early days of learning how to identify a bleed and knowing when to infuse Julian were stressful.

Even in the darkness of night and early morning, the hospital was extremely busy. The beeping monitors, doors opening for gurneys from the ambulance bay, babies crying, and angry people making demands of the staff became overwhelming.

And the moment I entered the waiting room, the smell of disinfectant, body odor, and stale air hung heavily around me.

The trip from the exam room to the vending machines in the waiting room was filled with sights and sounds that could be unnerving. My main concern was getting Julian’s factor infused quickly, but the hospital noise was part of the experience, now etched into my memory.

Years later, standing in the hospital lobby with candy in hand, my body remembered what my mind had long since filed away. The memories came rushing back, not because anything was wrong in that moment, but because once upon a time, everything had been. Thankfully, the chocolate calmed the panic and worry that filled my heart.

Now, when I pack my lunch or squirrel away snacks in the glove compartment, it is an intentional act of self-care, born of experience, because I know what it’s like to run on empty.

And I know the importance of being prepared for whatever the day may bring.

Note: Hemophilia News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Hemophilia News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to hemophilia.