Rudy’s been peaceful all day except for a brief moment just now when he opened his eyes for a look around. As we expected, the lymphangiogram is scheduled for Monday so the plan for this weekend is for Rudy to hold his ground and keep making progress on his nutrition. Waiting ain’t fun but it’s something we’ve learned to do. Thanks for waiting in prayer and please continue as you are able.
A highlight today was a visit from friends we never knew we had. Yvonne from the Office of Clinical Trials here at the Geffen School of Medicine came by. Their office adopted us for Christmas and she delivered a sweet card and gift certificate for our family. We invited her to pass on word about Rudy’s Beat to the folks at the office, so if any of you are reading this, thanks so much—boosts like that mean more than you might think.
I’ve touched before on the notion of the “emotional hospital gowns” we’ve grown used to wearing. We’re grateful Rudy is stable and that we’re not in constant anguish, but there come moments when emotions sideswipe us by surprise and everything just falls out into the open.
I was waiting by myself for the elevator here on the floor when I heard commotion coming up on me from the left. A family was being discharged from maternity. It was a happy procession (as it should be) with Mom in a wheelchair holding the precious cargo, dad and other family members following with luggage, staff and volunteers serving as escorts and lending a hand with balloons and flower arrangements. The elevator I had called for arrived right about the same time they did and, displaying the chivalry my mom taught me, I stepped to the side and held the door for them to get in.
The entry took longer than most as it included the giddy process of getting Mom pushed and turned, getting everyone arranged around her and then the balloons through the door. Not an inordinate amount of time, but long enough for my emotions to surprise me. I would normally have played the role of the pleasant stranger along for the ride with aplomb, offered my congratulations and obligingly gushed over their new baby. But just before the door closed, I stepped away and mumbled about getting the next one. It took me a few minutes to collect myself before I could get it together enough to push the button again. I resolved on the spot that there is NO WAY I’m going to settle for sharing someone else’s elevator ride home. I want my own.
In ten weeks, I’ve experienced just about everything one can (and certainly more than anyone would want to) in this hospital, but one thing I haven’t had is my family elevator ride home. It seems so long ago that I almost have to remind myself that this whole odyssey started with Rudy’s birth on this floor and the subsequent stay in maternity. Since then, there’s been an interruption in the usual progression. I can wait as long as I need to, but I will have my own elevator ride.