The mother remembered almost nothing about the ambulance ride.
She remembered holding a disposable oxygen mask against her face.
A paramedic asking her questions.
And the terrifying thought that her son might be somewhere else in the building, frightened and alone.
When she reached the emergency department, she tried to stand before the medical team had finished examining her.
"Where's my boy?"
A nurse gently asked her to remain seated.
"He's receiving care."
"Is he awake?"
"We're checking him carefully."
The mother gripped the edge of the bed.
"Please."
The nurse looked into her eyes.
"I know you're frightened. We're going to make sure you get information as soon as the team can provide it."
The woman nodded.
But she couldn't stop trembling.
Every time a door opened, she looked toward it.
Every time someone passed the room, she tried to read their expression.
She was certain the doctors were keeping something terrible from her.
Eventually, a physician explained that her son had suffered injuries from the fire and smoke exposure and would require specialized pediatric treatment and monitoring.
He was alive.
He was receiving care.
And the medical team was assessing his needs.
The mother began crying.
She pressed both hands against her face.
Then asked the only question that mattered.
"Can I see him?"
When the staff determined it was appropriate, she was brought to his bedside.
He looked impossibly small.
The hospital bed seemed enormous around him.
His familiar brown hair had been cut very short as part of his care, and dressings covered areas the medical team was treating.
His breathing was being monitored.
A nurse stood nearby.
The mother approached slowly.
She didn't know whether she should touch him.
Didn't know where he might hurt.
And didn't know how to look at his face without remembering the moment she'd left the burning house without him.
The nurse showed her where she could rest her hand.
The mother took the boy's fingers gently.
"Sweetheart."
He opened his eyes.
For a moment, he looked confused.
Then he recognized her.
"Mommy?"
Her voice broke.
"I'm here."
He tried to smile.
She leaned closer.
"I'm so sorry."
The boy frowned.
"Why?"
The mother began crying harder.
She couldn't answer.
How could she explain that she'd heard his warning and dismissed it?
That she'd promised to check the strange smell?