Giant eyes and frozen banana elevators

“I like how you handled the thing between the girls,” Bethany commented to me about my column as we were driving home in the van last week after dropping Ellen off at her grandparent’s house to spend the night. We would have to get up before five the next morning in order to get her older sister, Grace to the hospital by six to get her tonsils and adenoids out at eight. (if you read last week’s column, you should have Déjà vu by now, don’t worry, this week’s column is actually about something, so keep reading).

This was going to be hard. It was hard because Grace had been lobbying to spend the night at their grandparents for several weeks and now Ellie actually got to do it. It was going to be hard because you aren’t supposed to eat anything the night before a surgery. The only thing harder than trying to get a five year old to eat is trying to prevent them from eating. It was going to be hard because she’d be scared to death so she wouldn’t sleep, she’d have anxious nightmares. It was going to be hard, I just knew it.

What did I know. Grace was so excited and wound up about her adventure and all the special attention she was getting, that you’d think the next day was going to be Christmas!

Her father on the other hand more than made up for her optimism with his neurotic, paranoid, parental worst-case-scenarioism. I played out in my mind what it would be like to lose her so young. As I walked her up to bed to tuck her in she climed the stairs ahead of me, backwards,
“Come on Daddy, I’m gonna beat you!” she taunted.

It was like she was on her way to Heaven. I couldn’t take it, it really got the worry juices going in my brain. Naturally I said some extra prayers that night, and solicited prayers from practically everyone in my email address book.

Getting up before five the next morning in order to get Grace to the hospital by six to get her tonsils and adenoids out at eight was hard. Really hard. I mean, come on, we’re teachers and this is summer for crying out loud. On top of that Ellen is usually our alarm clock- every morning at seven there she is by the side of the bed, patting you on the side and grinning at you sideways. Therefore, having her at her Grammy’s house meant no wake-up call.

Somehow we dragged our selves out of bed and brought the patient, (still in her pajamas) her stuffed dog, “Doc,” and her Spiderman blanket to the van for the dawn journey to the big town (Denison).
It did feel sort of like a vacation, hitting the road on a cool damp morning. The hills were typically gorgeous.

“Oh, it’s so bootifool,” sighed Grace.

She really was getting spoiled. A spacious, quiet, private room in the back of the ICU. She quickly settled in. The nurse briefed her on the remote. What a remote! Not only could she change the channel and adjust the volume on the cable TV, but she could turn the lights on and off and move the bed up and down and change it’s angles. This is WAY too much power for a five year old. Incidentally, Denison Cable has a lot more channels then Charter Oaks. Not that this mattered to Grace, she pretty well watched the same things she always watches- the Wiggles, Dora the Explorer, Spongebob.

In comes nurse after nurse and anesthesiologists to tell us what would happen, what Doctor Crabb would do, and what to expect afterwards. Two hours flew by. I mention this because when both of our girls were born, now hour ever flew by in the hospital. Hours became days and days weeks, until by the time the kid’s born, you feel like you’ve just spent half the year in the hospital. Its no wonder new parents always say “I can’t remember what life was like with out (put child’s name here).” Hospital stays for adults are so grueling that it seems like there was no life before, no reality outside of the hospital, only the Purgatory of the hospital and whatever your new glorious after life happens to be.

Then I swear that the time Bethany and I were in the waiting room was even quicker. It seemed like no sooner were we kissing her goodbye and begging God not to taker her as they wheeled her into the OR then Doctor Crabb was gabbing with us about how huger her adenoids had been and how good she was doing and “how quickly these little kids bounce back…”

Whew. Thank you Jesus.

Oh, that’s not to say that there wasn’t a Purgatory for us adults. We were dying of hunger, so while Grace was in recovery, we thought we’d visit the snack bar. Not open. “It’s run by volunteers, and sometimes they have a hard time finding volunteers,” said a person in white shoes and hospitally looking clothes.

Okay, we’ll drop down to the cafeteria. Crawford County Memorial’s one elevator has these dark brown doors, but when it opens up the interior is sort of a yellow faux finish thing. It reminded me of a chocolate covered frozen banana. This made me more hungry. I was looking forward to some soggy scrambled eggs or dietarily correct French toast with an apple sauce cup like hospitals serve.

I think that there must be a law somewhere that says that hospitals have to be easy to get lost in and that at least one floor in any hospital has to be bare and institutional and intimidating. Even warm, intimate little Crawford County Memorial has a floor like that. The basement, which of course is basically the “bowls” of the place- laundry rooms, storage, dishroom, ah, here it is, the cafeteria…which doesn’t open till noon.

So back up to Grace’s room we went. 6 AM to 6 PM is what someone told us who’d had their child’s tonsils out. Sure enough. Poor kid, she was zonked all day. Anytime a nurse came to check on her or she had a visitor so that she had to wake up, her eyes got as big as quarters as if she were a deer in the headlights. It was so impressive that it became the talk of the staff.

She slept most of the day. This of course was rather dull for we adults. It was worst for me because of my Attention Deficit Dilemma. At least Denison cable has Country Music Television (hin- hint Tip Top Communications!)

Bethany was kind to me and “gave me errands,” so I could leave and come back when the cabin fever got too much for me.
This meant that I figured out how to get around the hospital. Of course, they’re remodeling, so next time I’ll be lost again.

That chocolate banana elevator? It can hold 23 people. Unbelievable, its the size of a broom closet- can’t be more than 9X12. 3,500 pound maximum load. That means 23 people who are 152 pounds each. Gawd, I wish I was only 152 pounds, geez I must have been in seventh grade when I weighed that little. They’d have to all be that skinny to fit 23 of them in that little box!

One errand was Graces prescriptions, one was lunch, one was toys for when she woke up. This was unnecessary. As much as I loved the chance to spoil her, she got stuff from her cousins, stuff from her grandparents and stuff from the hospital- sort of a McDonald’s Happy Meal of crayons, a Cup and various sundries. None of these things meant much to her since she was sleeping or in pain and wanting to sleep all day.

The funnest thing for her was when the nurse clipped a sensor onto her finger to check her pulse and measure the hemoglobins (Oxygen levels) in her blood. Hers was at 98%, very good. Mine was 99%, amazing with all the allergies and asthma, coughing, hacking and snorting that I do. The nurse told me that if Bethany’s level was 100% I had to take her shopping in Council Bluffs. It was, I think he had the thing rigged.

Anyway Grace is doing fine. She wanted to play in the sprinkler by that Sunday and she’s loved all the snow cones and Popsicles. Thanks for your prayers and you support.