1. Sitting in the cath lab waiting room, after getting the details of the procedure from Mark's doctor, my father and I wait to be escorted to where Mark will be staying for the night.
2. As soon as he sees me, Mark reaches for my Starbucks cup because he's so thirsty. And hungry. The nurse starts pushing his bed toward the elevators and I hurry to keep up asking, "Hey, where you going with my coffee?"
3. Up on the third floor I am pleased to find that Mark gets a private room. 336. I watch as he moves from the OR bed to the room bed, wanting to help somehow, but there are already two nurses right there.
4. The nurses adjust the bed, fluff the pillows and give Mark an ice pack for the incision site. I'm leaning on the wall at the foot of his bed and when I step away, I cause a plastic body board that was also leaning on the wall to fall over. Oops.
5. Over at the large window I place my purse and Kindle on the sill and listen as the nurses buzz around doing their duties, admitting Mark to the floor. One tells him to do something and he flat out says no. I may or may not have scolded him a little to not give them a hard time.
6. A round, grey-haired nurse enters to do the intake. Or as it's more aptly described, ask you every question under the sun making you feel like you're selling your soul. Do you drink, smoke, do recreational drugs (isn't drinking and smoking recreational too?), have regular bowel movements or ever exceed the speed limit? How many surgeries have you had? Um, how much time do you have?
7. Mark is starving...TO DEATH. He really wants to call an order in for food but this woman keeps asking him questions. Finally she realizes this and tells him to go ahead, that she can ask me instead. Oh yippee! Mark scratches his head for a few more minutes trying to figure out what someone who's on a diabetic and heart healthy diet will be allowed to eat. Turns out, a French dip sandwich and fries without salt is alright. Go figure.
8. The nurses finish their tasks and food arrives promptly. I am relieved Mark is getting to eat because his blood sugar was only 74 and we already dealt with a low that day. As he eats, I flip through a brochure about the device that now resides in Mark's chest. Looking at the illustrations I can see why the shape of a love heart is what it is; real hearts do somewhat look like one. In an abstract sort of way.
9. I check the time. It's nearly 5:45, going on 6:00. Thinking about the kids, and my dad's yawning next to me, we should leave soon. But I hesitate. It's gotten easier over the years, but I will never like leaving my husband at the hospital by himself, while I get to return to the comfort of our home. It's hard in a different way now, though. Now I am traumatized by terrifying middle-of-the-night phone calls that something scary is happening to Mark.
10. I shake the scary thoughts away. Literally shaking my head a little. Mark sounds perfectly alright with my leaving. I tell him to be good and that I love him. Love you too....bye....call if you need me....I'll have the kids call to say goodnight....one more I love you....
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| Inspired by "An Hour in a Day" at Stacey's Mothering Moments |
Submitting this to the Yeah Write #56 Challenge Grid.
