One More Anniversary
As of today, my dad has been in the ICU for a full month.
Except for a few trips to other floors for things like CT scans and, um, procedures (better known as surgery), he has been in the same room 24 hours a day for 30 straight days.
And my mom and I have been traveling to that same room every day for 30 straight days.
We are all bloody well sick of it.
We know virtually every nurse, every attending, every fellow, every resident, every respiratory therapist, every physical therapist, every clerk, every food-delivery person, and every custodian.
We know where the social worker lives and how many siblings she has.
We know what time the cookies and coffee get refreshed in the waiting room.
We know which corner of which hallway gets the best cell phone reception.
We know there are no wi-fi hotspots to be found.
We know when the cafeteria is open and who carries the newspaper and what's available in the vending machines.
We know where to go for the nearest Indian food, the tastiest soups, and the best sandwiches.
We know which restaurants deliver and which to avoid.
We know whether the bathrooms have run out of toilet paper, and we know the location of every Purell dispenser in a 100-yard radius.
We know how to get to the lounge with the communal computer, and we know whether or not it's working on a given day.
We know which family members in the waiting room go with which patients in the ICU. We know who's had what surgery with which surgeon and how it went. We know who's been moved to the step-down unit, who's been discharged, and who's had a complication.
We know which channels show movies on the hospital's television system, and we know how many times the remotes have been stolen from the waiting room.
We know there are extra sheets above the sink and extra cups out by the refrigerator.
We know that flowers and cookies make the ICU staff very happy.
We know what every piece of equipment does and what every vital sign should read.
We just don't know when my father is coming home.
Except for a few trips to other floors for things like CT scans and, um, procedures (better known as surgery), he has been in the same room 24 hours a day for 30 straight days.
And my mom and I have been traveling to that same room every day for 30 straight days.
We are all bloody well sick of it.
We know virtually every nurse, every attending, every fellow, every resident, every respiratory therapist, every physical therapist, every clerk, every food-delivery person, and every custodian.
We know where the social worker lives and how many siblings she has.
We know what time the cookies and coffee get refreshed in the waiting room.
We know which corner of which hallway gets the best cell phone reception.
We know there are no wi-fi hotspots to be found.
We know when the cafeteria is open and who carries the newspaper and what's available in the vending machines.
We know where to go for the nearest Indian food, the tastiest soups, and the best sandwiches.
We know which restaurants deliver and which to avoid.
We know whether the bathrooms have run out of toilet paper, and we know the location of every Purell dispenser in a 100-yard radius.
We know how to get to the lounge with the communal computer, and we know whether or not it's working on a given day.
We know which family members in the waiting room go with which patients in the ICU. We know who's had what surgery with which surgeon and how it went. We know who's been moved to the step-down unit, who's been discharged, and who's had a complication.
We know which channels show movies on the hospital's television system, and we know how many times the remotes have been stolen from the waiting room.
We know there are extra sheets above the sink and extra cups out by the refrigerator.
We know that flowers and cookies make the ICU staff very happy.
We know what every piece of equipment does and what every vital sign should read.
We just don't know when my father is coming home.
posted by Jody Rosen Knower at 6:21 PM
1 Comments:
Jody,
Sooooo good to see you yesterday; Not only do you NOT look your age, you certainly DO NOT look like someone who has had the past 2 years you've had. I was marveling about that as I walked away from you. How so much can happen in one life--a person can carry around so much--and only a privilaged few know about it in such a crowded place. To most everyone else, you are a young woman, walking home after breakfast wtih a friend...And the Hair!! Your hair looks fantastic!!
I'm just so sorry about the uncertainty surrounding your Dad's situation.
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