This is a time of year which I dread.

It’s a happy time for one reason, my mother’s birthday. This year is the big 2-9 — well, the 62nd anniversary of her 29th birthday, anyway. Happy birthday, Mom.

So why do I dread it?

Just about this time each year, my daughter has some affliction or malady and ends up in the hospital. This year was no different. We just returned from a week in Pittsburgh. She’s doing much better now.

What I wanted to share was our misadventures in health care.

My daughter was vomiting. A lot. Three-trips-to-the-emergency-room a lot. We went to see a doctor in Olean, N.Y. Well, we tried. Our appointment had been canceled — we weren’t told in advance — and we were to see someone else. We went to that office. They would see us in October.

I asked what to do in the meantime, since, you know, people need food and water to live. What I wasn’t expecting was a brush off and to be told, basically, go somewhere else.

I, of course, was perfectly calm and unflappable.

OK, no I wasn’t.

At any rate, we ended up driving to Pittsburgh to go to an emergency room where a doctor agreed that food and water were necessary for survival, and no, it’s not a good idea to wait until October to have either.

She was admitted to the hospital and spent a week there, finding and treating the root of the problem.

I’m not sharing this story to assign blame to anyone. I am sharing this to lament at the state of our health care.

We went several times to Bradford Regional Medical Center emergency department. The care we received was very good for the most part. Several nurses told us we needed an endoscopy as soon as possible to get the root of the problem.

Getting it was the problem. Where things broke down was in the post-emergency, still urgent part of needing care.

There was no discussion of admission in our repeated visits. We were told to simply keep our appointment with the specialist in Olean — the appointment that was canceled for us, without our knowledge.

I had a few moments, standing in the hallway of a doctor’s office in Olean, tears streaming down my face, wondering “now what?”

Was my daughter’s life not as important to the medical community as it was to me?

I remembered, at that moment, reading the Patients Rights sign on the wall at the emergency room. The sign says a patient has the right to expect emergency procedures to be implemented without unnecessary delay.

I suppose it’s accurate to say emergency measures were taken. She was given an IV of fluids and medication that temporarily stopped the problem. On three separate days. Without getting to the source of the problem.

If she were bleeding, would we stay until it was stopped, or would we get stitches to close a wound? Or would we be asked to wait two months until a doctor could see us?

While the community laments — rightfully so — the loss of services at BRMC, perhaps there’s a larger problem that we’re not addressing.

How many people are falling through the cracks between the ER and a follow-up? Is triage only a concept in an emergency room?

Perhaps with all the changes being made at our local hospitals, officials could consider if the needs of all patients are being met in a timely fashion.

Ours were not. Which terrifies me, and makes me hesitant to give BRMC another shot.

So, hospital officials, I implore you — do better. Be our partner in healthcare. Our very lives depend on you.

(Marcie Schellhammer is the Era’s assistant managing editor. She can be reached at marcie@bradfordera.com.)