gratitude amidst the mess… and the gift from our hockey family...

For some reason the day treatment unit seemed quiet yesterday.  There were very few people in the rooms surrounding mom, few sitting in the waiting rooms, and a very calm environment throughout the day.  

Mom seemed eager to get on with the procedure and let them try not once, not twice, but three times to hit a vein for her iv.  It was shortly before 9 when she was all ready to go back to the OR.  I sat in the MRI waiting room, chatting with a friend waiting for her doctor's appointment.  It was a lovely distraction.

Merely 45 minutes later, I was paged to the back room to wait for Dr. Teigen.  All the consult rooms were full so I ended up in the MRI sedation bay again, giggling at the thought of all the time I've spent there.  What better place to hear how mom's procedure went?

Dr. Teigen strode into the room and got right down to it.  "The procedure went well, your mom is doing fine.  She will be in recovery the next hour or so, upstairs.  It was a bad fracture, but I got it all.  I would bet, based on her history now, with her bones as soft as they are, she has at least a 50 percent chance of the next vertebrae down, breaking as well.  But then we'll just fix that one too.  

He is confident, without sounding arrogant, and I appreciate his insight and experience.  

The tech's tell me now would be a good time to get something to eat.  So I go off to the cafeteria and grab a big salad.  

I finish early and wander over to the main entrance.  As I pass by the long hallway joining the clinic with the hospital, I see a man gazing out the window at the flame I had taken a picture of just last week.  His whole body is turned away from the hall, and as I approach, I notice its shaking.  I can see from a sideways view, the man is quietly crying, his body racked with sobs attacking in waves.  He is curled in a ball, his feet tucked up underneath him.  

I'm choked with my own tears, and yet it doesn't seem right to intrude on his moment.  I simply walk on, uttering a quick prayer, for his sorrow, and the idea that my own loved one is fine today.  I feel God's presence and my fragile heart takes strength from the surge of gratitude I feel.

Moments later I am back in my mom's room and she is snoring away, loudly.  I have to laugh as I realize, clearly she is comfortable when she can sleep so deeply, oblivious to all going on around her.

I sit silently, waiting for her to rouse herself.  Its so quiet, very few patients near her again.  So its no surprise when a gentleman approaches our nurse, Vickie, with a question.  

He is mild mannered.  Soft spoken.  Something about his delivery has me wondering.  He explains that his wife had been in a room down the hall earlier in the day.  The doctor had brought them a picture, and they had forgotten it.  His wife desperately wanted to see it now.  Could they look in the room or would it have been placed somewhere?  Our nurse offers to help, but explains the room has been cleaned and nothing is left in there.  And where is his wife?

And then he says the words that brings the whole experience to new life.  She was admitted after the D&C and the picture of the inside of her belly before the procedure would bring such comfort.

Sweet Jesus.  As my mother lays snoring, I am reminded again, that others have had life-changing days today.  And while I've been through hard, and exhausting and challenging, my mother is doing fine today.  I'm overflowing with gratitude.  This was the perspective I needed, and it seems I got the message loud and clear.

Mom wakes eventually, sits up, walks with help to the bathroom, eats a late lunch, and gets dressed.  Just like that, she is ready to go, late in the afternoon.  I get her out to her ride back to Bethany, hug her and know she is in good hands.  

I come home for the night.  Feeling more convinced I would be able to go to Roseau with Colton.  I curl up in bed, exhausted and much like mom, I manage to sleep soundly while the phone rings, and visitors come and the doorbell rings and the dog barks.  

I awaken as Colton tosses me an envelope.  I groggily open it and find this beautifully handwritten note inside:

Tears stream.  All the tension, all the worry, everything, melts away.  Our hockey family has rescued us yet again.  We feel so fortunate to be surrounded by so many who care about us.

THANK YOU to our PEEWEE B FAMILY!  Words can barely express the gratitude we feel for such a generous and extremely thoughtful gesture.  You've touched us immensely and we couldn't be more proud to part of such a great group of people! 

I've just talked to mom.  She is groggy, but feeling okay.  She plans on hanging out in her chair, resting.  Colton and I are packing and Grandpa Jim just brought us snacks, and will stay with the dog.  

Thank you all for your prayers that continue to nourish and lift us so.