Saturday Morning

Another morning begins for me. I’m admiring a rather chilly morning from the warmth and comfort of my hospital bed. I would gladly trade this for going home, but I realize that pneumonia is a serious problem, and that even if I feel great, a relapse is a real possibility.

I know that patience is the key here. I don’t want to go home only to return in a short period of time for the same condition.

Having said that, I’ll wait and see what today has in store for me. I know that the nurses and doctors are doing their very best to help me, and I’m grateful to them for that.

In a little while, I’ll start my morning texts with Hal and also some friends and coworkers to keep them advised about my condition. I don’t have any real family other than Hal, so those cousins won’t be notified regardless what happens to me.

Hal is from a large, close family, but I’m an only child with one of the most dysfunctional extended families imaginable. Hal and The Stooges are my real family now. With hundreds of cousins scattered around the country, we don’t talk and that’s the summary of our “relationship”. I’ve never felt close to them, let alone any sense of closeness from them. I abandoned hope for any real relationship with them years ago, and I suppose it doesn’t matter to each other if we live or die.

Despite that, I’m happy and grateful for my situation. Being freed from the expectation and approval of others has made me my own man. Not perfect, definitely flawed, but no longer trying to hide my imperfections.

The sun is brighter now, as with all things, patience will be its own reward.

Code Blue

I’m awake just after midnight, staring Saturday morning in the face, and hoping that Saturday will finally be the day I can go back home from the hospital. I’m not writing to complain about my situation, there’s something else on my mind.

While Hal was here visiting me, the nurse who was in the room with us responded to the words “Code Blue”. I’ve seen enough tv shows to understand what that meant. Someone’s life was in real dander, and the nurse sprinted out of the room to help.

She returned about 15 minutes later and I could tell she was visibly shaken, although she tried her very best to hide it. She resumed the routine work she was doing on me until the phrase “Code Blue” rang out again. Once more she sprinted out of the room.

When she returned, she wasn’t able to mask her feelings. “The poor man” she said under her breath, hoping that Hal and I didn’t hear her. The cheery bedside manner was gone for a moment and we saw the real person instead of the professional nurse.

To think of how many times she has responded to “Code Blue”, and how many more times she will do so reminded me of how strong nurses really are.

If you know a nurse, thank them. If you see a nurse, thank them. If you’re stuck in the hospital like I am, thank each and every nurse for every little thing that they do for you.