My daughter, Marie, who has attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder and is profoundly deaf, was riding her bright red mountain bike near our little house in New Hampshire. Our “neighborhood” is very woodsy with dirt roads and the occasional bear or moose sighting. The few cars that venture into our neck of the woods are “locals” who drive very slowly. (One never knows when that deer will come sprinting across the road.)

On that leisurely afternoon as I sat in the house, drinking my all-important cup of afternoon tea and reading the local newspaper, a neighbor whom I barely knew came to the door and knocked firmly. With a flushed face, he quickly made the announcement that Marie had been in a bike accident. Briskly following after him, I was told she apparently had hit a gravel patch and the bike slipped and fell out from underneath her. Because she is very melodramatic, she was moaning and groaning and fussing and fuming as many people gathered around her. These well meaning neighbors mistook her communication efforts to mean she was in pain and needed an ambulance. I got there just as she was put her in on a stretcher. As they lifted her, her complaints increased to blood curdling screams, and one would think she was severely injured. In truth, with her Post Traumatic Stress disorder, she becomes completely hysterical any time she is restrained, and the EMTs had her restrained on a backboard with a neck brace.

Grabbing my car, I followed them to the hospital where she continued to scream, kick her arms and legs against the restraints, and cry huge dollops of tears. Knowing her history, and after a little bit of pleading, they give her a dose of Ativan, which lessened the screaming and fighting back a little. Interpreting the doctor’s request, I asked her where it hurt and she used her restrained hand to sign in ASL alphabet that her neck hurt badly.  Off she went to have x-rays taken, still confined to the backboard and neck brace. Because she thrashed about so much during these x-rays, they did not come out clearly, and a portable unit was sent to her bedside with the hope that, with a little more Ativan, she could be calmer for additional x-rays. No evidence of broken bones was found, but she was still clearly agitated and complained tearfully that her neck hurt.

They sedated her into sleep in order to do a CAT scan, something that would have emotionally scarred her given her restraint situation. Again, there was no sign of neck injury. Satisfied that it was safe to take the restraints off, off came the backboard and neck collar. Her crying and thrashing stopped immediately, and Marie sat up and smiled. “Great!” she signed, “Neck no more hurt!” The doctor looked at her neck and noticed a huge red mark where the collar had been pinching her. The EMT had incorrectly placed a child’s collar on her! This child had not been hurt at all in the bike fall; she was injured by a neck brace that was too small!

Although frustrated at what we had been through, I was glad it was over and she was okay. However, I was not very glad when the bill for the emergency room came...