Things for Eilidh went from bad to worse when, around 9:45 on Saturday night, she woke up inconsolable. As I tried to comfort her, it became increasingly clear that she was upset due to breathing difficulties. She was crying, gagging, croupy, and seemed unable to take a deep breath.
Thinking it would help clear her throat, I tried to get her to drink some water. She was able to take a few sips but still continued to struggle. I took her into the bathroom and turned on the hot water to create steam while attempting to reach Brian, who was out exploring Lisbon.
Eventually Eilidh coughed up an insane amount of phlegm for such a little human and immediately began to breathe easier. Around the same time, I was able to reach Brian by phone, who then headed home pretty quickly. Even though she seemed better, we decided it made sense to get her checked out to be sure all was really okay.
On the metro ride back to our apartment, Brian exchanged texts with Elsa about the best place to take Eilidh. She shared that Hospital Dona Estefânia, Portugal’s main children’s hospital, was extremely close to our apartment. Elsa offered to give us a ride, but Brian insisted we could make the 10-minute walk instead.
Amanda documented Eilidh sleeping peacefully earlier in the evening.
Sleepy Eilidh seemed to enjoy the walk and her breathing seemed even more improved in the cool night air. We followed trusty Google Maps walking directions to the hospital but were honestly unsure we’d reached the right destination upon arrival.
The security gate was dimly lit, but the remainder of the walled-off grounds were quite dark, as we made our way to the side of the massive old facility to the Urgência entrance. I narrowly missed falling flat on my face as I stumbled off the sidewalk at one point, but we ultimately arrived unscathed.
Inside we found a stark waiting room with rows and rows of empty, bright orange plastic chairs. Around the corner, we found the admissions desk and asked if the receptionist spoke English. He did. We told him about Eilidh’s difficulty breathing, and he handed us a paper to complete while he reviewed our passports.
The paperwork required only the most basic of information, including Eilidh’s name and date of birth; our address in Portugal; Brain’s name and home address; passport details; and the reason for the emergency room visit. We found it rather amusing that the checklist of standard “reasons for visit” included intoxication, personal injury, and injury from physical altercation – at a children’s hospital emergency room!
Eilidh’s name was called quickly, but when Brian and I both got up to accompany her back to triage, a rather imposing guard wagged his finger at us and said, “No. One.” Brian hung out in the waiting room while I took Eilidh down the hallway to the triage room. Immediately noticeable was the vast difference between the outdated waiting room and the modern facilities behind the security door.
A nurse and doctor were in the triage room. The nurse spoke English fairly well and provided translations to and from the doctor; it was interesting to hear her come up with the best translations for words and phrases like “G-tube” and “chronic kidney disease.” I was also to provide them with a printout of Eilidh’s latest nephrology documentation and a copy of her medical history, both which had been packed “just in case” on the recommendation of Eilidh’s nephrologist at home.
Eilidh has her band, with the orange chairs in the background.
Eilidh was equipped with a yellow ID band on her leg, and we were promptly returned to the waiting room area and told to go to the identified room when her name was called again. In the waiting room was a television which we believe was displaying wait times listed according to the severity. Eilidh was yellow, which was labeled as Urgência, the middle of five levels of triage severity.
Though the yellow wait time was listed at 33 minutes, we had to only wait about 10 minutes before her name was again called. This time, the security guard was gone and Brian was able to follow us back to a room without difficulty.
In room 4 we found a very friendly scrub-clad doctor. She was American – so any worries about communication barriers were alleviated. She was also very thorough. She pronounced Eilidh’s lungs clear but noted her phlegmy upper respiratory tract and guessed that Eilidh’s breathing difficult had been caused by a particularly nasty bit of phlegm caught in one of her bronchial tubes.
With our plans to board an airplane within less than 48 hours, she was concerned about problems spreading to Eilidh’s ears. She decided to prescribe an antibiotic for dual reasons: as a treatment and a prophylactic measure to prevent ear infection.
Due to the limited medical facilities on Porto Santo island, where we are flying, she prescribed a breathing mask and some albuterol, to be used as a rescue measure for breathing difficulties, if needed. She discussed dosage of Portuguese acetaminophen and double-checked dosages of the antibiotic and albuterol with a pediatric nephrologist to ensure Eilidh was given the safest amounts considering her current level of kidney disease.
We felt very comfortable with her plan of care, and we were discharged back to the waiting room with prescriptions in tow. After paying a very reasonable 112 Euros, we were on our way home roughly an hour after entering the ER. Despite the language barrier, I can honestly say this was one of the easiest, and definitely the cheapest, emergency room visits I have experienced!
We said “good night” to Hospital Dona Estefânia on our walk back to the apartment.
Eilidh was more than ready to go to sleep on our arrival home and despite a few coughing fits, she had a relatively good night of rest.
On our way out of the hospital, we were pointed to a piece of paper on the wall with the day’s 24-hour pharmacies. We grabbed pictures of the list, and Brian determined the best option would be the pharmacy associated with a recognizable neighborhood. He was insistent on completing the trip before the Metro ended its service for the night at 1:00 a.m.; that effort was successful.
Brian took this photo of the multi-escalator exit from the subway station, a victory in Metro navigation saving more than 5 flights worth of steps to get to the pharmacy.
Twenty-four-hour pharmacies in Lisbon were set up with simply a doorbell and drop box of sorts to communicate with the pharmacist and exchange paperwork, money, and the prescriptions.
