Hospital Sitting

So, Mom had her hip replaced on Friday, and I was there all weekend and did four days of sitting in the hospital, the first morning with all of us loved ones waiting for her to come out of surgery, and the next 3 1/2 days waiting for her to be ready enough to come home.

Hospitals are hard places to be, especially the surgery waiting room because you're with a whole room full of little groups of people who are worried and scared, and sitting quietly to pass the very slow-passing time, trying not to think of anything, not of what might happen because you don't want to call it up to mind, and not that everything will be alright because you don't want to call down the evil eye or a gypsy curse on yourself. That's the hardest.

Then coming and going in the lobby is hard, and up and down the elevators, because people are coming in to see someone and you catch their eye and smile but they might be coming in for something bad, or be worried or in pain, and you don't want to intrude on that private, awful thing, and it's not like you don't have your own hard thing to deal with, anyway. Fortunately, the orthopedic ward was right above the floor with the new babies, so most of the people in the elevator were really happy. And the orthopedic ward is pretty happy too - everyone's there to get repairs, usually they are planned enhancements to the capital infrastructure of their bodies, they are not there through catastrophe or illness or a situation of hopelessness. But still.

Mom came out of surgery really well. She was talking, pretty cheerful, and really hilarious. She'd lean back and close her eyes, but every time there was anything funny to say, she'd open her eyes and say it. I have always thought that my sister and I got our sense of humor from the dry folks on my Dad's side, but it must come down from Mom as well - if, while coming out from general anesthesia, your true nature is revealed, my Mom is really funny. I wish I'd been writing everything down, but again, I'm sure she wouldn't want it all recorded for posterity, it's a private moment for family only.

Over the long term, though, Mom doesn't deal well with pain medication, and that makes it hard. The first day or two she was mostly sleepy and slow, and a bit sluggish. Her blood pressure and blood oxygen were both low so they kept giving her fluids and a tube in the nose. She did eat a bit, I think, that day. But we had a long way to go. On Day 3, my sister stayed with her while Dad and I drove across town just in advance of an angry black thunderstorm, to fulfill a social obligation on behalf of the family, and while my sister was there Mom got a bit weird, started saying things that didn't make any sense and saw Dad sitting beside her bed when he wasn't there. Then Mom got really itchy, all over, and it was all we could do to stop her from scratching at her incision and making skin abrasions. We all stayed until 8pm that night to make sure she got sorted out - three different people came by to check her medications, and finally they gave her some Benadryl and she went to sleep. The TV was all hurricane Gustav and the postponed Republican Convention, on CNN endlessly.

I should give a shout out to the hospital. She was there for both shoulder replacements (11 and 7 years ago, respectively), and as my sister put it, the place had much more of a bus station atmosphere that time. It was sort of grimy and neglected, and the staff was grumpy, and there was a horrible incident where someone came and just tossed a breakfast tray at my broken-winged mother, full of packets of milk, juice, jello, all sealed with foil or in plastic, and she couldn't open any of it with one arm and no one came to help. When Dad arrived, a little bit late because he was resting and also I remember he had a phone call from one of his sisters that the other sister was unwell back in his home town, she was sitting there in tears. This memory haunted me this whole time, but when you have a hip done you can use both arms, so she could feed herself and change the TV channel and talk on the phone and things just fine. But beyond that, the staff was all really, really nice. We found a set of bullet points in one of the folders they gave her that outlined their service commitment ("Isn't it a shame they have to write this down?" she remarked), that included things like, "We promise to look you in the eye and introduce ourself by name. We will explain all procedures and ask if you have questions. We will treat you with respect." They absolutely did - before we even found the rulebook, Mom had mentioned that they all seemed to have had Happiness Training since the last time she was there. Everyone looked her in the eye when they came in, told her their name, listened, explained everything thoroughly, and said if she needed anything at all not to hesitate to call. From the surgeon's PA to the internist to the guy who cleared away the lunch tray to the Transport Agent who came to wheel her downstairs when she was ready to go home. And they'd instituted valet parking out front, on weekdays, and a Room Service menu. Yes, when you were ready to eat, you perused the menu bound in red leather, with a variety of tasty offerings (e.g. from simple "Gelatin" to huevos rancheros for breakfast), then dialled the Room Service extention, where a polite male voice said "All of our agents are busy. Your call is important to us, please hold the line." Her call was important to them? It's a hospital cafeteria. Imagine it. Anyway, then within an absolutely maximum of 45 minutes, and usually more like 10, a friendly and respectful person came, looked her in the eye, introduced themself, dropped off a beautiful tray of still hot and fairly delicious food (she didn't like most of it because her stomach was affected by the Percoset, but what I tried was pretty good), and told her if there was anything else at all they could do for her, to please not hesitate to get in touch. So, I think someone in Hotel Management had crossed over and started working in the hospital system, and asked themselves, why not treat the hospital patients as well as you treat guests in a fancy hotel? (The rooms certainly cost more per night, after all.) And I am sure it will make a big difference in people's recovery and overall attitude about their health. So, thanks, on behalf of my Mom.

I sat with her on my own the next day, while my sister and my Dad went and got the house ready for her arrival. She sat up and had lunch with me, but kept drifting off between bites, and once she started trying to explain something, "They have to...the art, for the kids...the kids from Katrina...they have to get..." she started waving her hand in a circle like she was groping for the words, "I might have dreamed this, but...they have to get for the kids..." I wanted to be able to reach inside her head and watch like a movie the thing she was dreaming about, and make it something real out here in the world so I could make a plan and go fix it, and then assure her it was all taken care of. I hated that I couldn't ease her worry, and I wonder if I should look for something nice to do for the kids affected by Hurricane Katrina anyway.

Once her systems got back on track, sitting alone with her was like what it must be to have a newborn baby. She'd finally get settled, breathe heavily, throw her head back in sleep, but then five minutes later the eyes would open again, and she'd have to use the restroom (a huge production with slippers, walker, slow shuffling painful steps, and the rest, and back again), or she'd be too cold, or too hot, or want a drink which had snuck just out of reach when the last nurse who'd come in to check her vitals moved the table out of the way. I didn't mind. But you can't read, while you're looking after an animal like this, whether Mom with a new hip or newborn baby. You can't sustain any concentration, you can't embark on any projects at all. You life to serve. You are happy to do it, you love her more than anything, you would do a million times more than that, but still. They are whole days passed in love and selflessness, and I admire and am amazed by the people who do it for a living every day.