And The World Goes ‘Round…

The PA lead me down a corridor into another building, and to the cardiac floor of the hospital.  The room was nice, private.  “You can get comfortable at your leisure; the nurse will be in shortly to finish checking you in.”

I walked to the window, which thankfully had a view of trees, the entrance portico to the hospital and a nice seating area right outside the doors.  John joined me.  “Don’t worry, Sweet Pea, it’ll be all right.”

“I’ll go home and get whatever you need,” he continued.  “They probably won’t do much today, anyway.”  I quickly wrote down a list of things I had to have – sweat pants and tee shirts, socks, tennis shoes, toiletries, and some books and magazines.  “You won’t be gone long, will you?” I asked, trying not to sound petrified.

“Just as long as it takes with traffic,” he answered.  He turned and was gone.

Now there I was for who knew how long, laughing to myself to think that a “respiratory infection” had turned into so much more — so quickly.  Suddenly the issue of financing all this wasn’t the prominent issue; of more concern was what was going to be done with me, and how long all this would take.  I knew they’d have to squeeze me in, since I wasn’t on the surgery schedule.  That could take days!  And then there was the boredom of being cooped up in this pretty, albeit tiny room.  “Maybe,” I said to myself, “it’s time to find religion again.”   I was more frightened than I’d ever been, even though from the looks of the cardiac unit, there were 100’s of us in the same boat. Little did I know there were 80,000,000 people in the U.S. alone, daily facing this condition.

Logically, I knew literally 1,000’s of people were in my predicament every day, although this was me!  The one who had survived Hodgkins Disease, and believed I’d never have to be in a hospital again.  And now ironically, Hodgkins had been the culprit causing my current visit.

I sat on the bed, and in between the bells ringing in the hallway and the shuffling noises up and down the hall, I began to pray.

I had just gotten quiet and settled in when a nurse entered the room.  “Hi, I’m Randy, and I’ll be your nurse today.”  She tugged a small cart behind her with lots of equipment on it.  “I’m going to get your vitals,” she continued, “then I’ll need you to take off your clothes and put on a gown.  They’ll be up to get you in a few minutes.”

I gasped.  “You guys don’t waste any time, do you?” I asked.  “So what are they going to do?”

“Oh, just a couple chest x-rays,” she answered.  “You’ll be back up in time for dinner.  The menu’s on the table there,” she added. 

She rolled the cart to my bedside, took my blood pressure, temperature, checked for a pulse in my legs and feet, then wrote something down in my chart.  “You don’t have much circulation going on down there,” she added.  “We’ll change all that.”

She explained the menu selections, adding that I would now be on a “Diabetic Diet” until further notice.  I could order anything on the available menu I wanted, up to a point.  If I went “over” my allowance in a certain category, they would refuse my request.  “I’ll be back a little later to check on you,” she said, taking her cart and pulling it out the door behind her.

I looked at the ceiling.  “O.K. God,” I said, “I’ll do everything I can to make this work; just let me know what I need to do.”  It had been awhile since I recognized the power of telling the Universe what you wanted; now would be the test to see if I was still connected.

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