No as you read this title, please don’t be alarmed (haha, no pun intended). Mom had her cancer surgery today, and besides the fact that the alarm I set off was in the hospital, the surgery has nothing to do with setting off alarms (literal or otherwise).
First, the surgery:
Mom’s surgery went well, though got started a bit late. The waiting room was nice, and Pastor Pete and his wife, Janet came and prayed with us in the waiting room before mom went in. They stayed for a while and visited too. Aunt Nita came by and stayed for most of time time we were there. It was comforting to have some people around.
They took out more area around where the cancer was just to be on the safe side, and they will take the tissue they removed and biopsy it (because cancer cells are on the cellular level), but at this point (from the naked eye) it looks like the chemotherapy treatment was very effective. There were no visual (naked eye) signs of a tumor. They got Mom’s pain under control, and of course, she was chatting it up with the nurses and talking about what really matters: what they believe. I think she is right when she says that cancer lets you just cut right to the chase instead of wondering what someone will think when you are asking about their faith. She hopefully comes home tomorrow.
Beyond waiting, reading, and praying, I also did some staring at the fish in the tank, and (admittedly) became envious of the fish. Stupid. I know. I wonder if they put the fish in hospitals…
(1) Because they are quiet and not loud like birds (although, I would prefer both to be present if I ran a hospital…something I’m not planning to do anytime in the near future in case you were wondering).
2) Because their lives look so peaceful, graceful, easy. They just float around and look at these worried people around them, and let the water move their bodies around.
Ok, so maybe the life of the fish is quite boring, and I’m over analyzing this.
My sister and I had heard (like everyone else in the hallways and waiting rooms of the hospital) the song they play when new babies are born. We heard that song 3 times. That means 3 babies.
She wanted to go to the nursery, because in times past, you could just waltz down the hall of the maternity ward and peek in the window at the newborns all swaddled up tight in those clear plastic roller-cart tubs. I didn’t have any objections, and the room they got for Mom (though the hospital was crowded) was on the 4th floor. The “Maternity Services” area is also on the 4th floor.
So while we were waiting on the nurses who were getting mom settled, Sister and I walked down the hall toward the babies, only to be stopped by a large door with the push-bar handles (you hopefully know what I’m talking about…they are pretty common). I pushed on the bar. And it took me a minute to realize that:
1) the door wasn’t opening
2) a siren was going off
I’m slow, yes. Apparently you can’t push on the doors to enter, but must “ring for entrance” or have the-secret-code-of-pregnancy-or-visitor to get in.
We walk through the doors that had begun to swing open by an activation by the person inside at the front desk. Now she, and (what feels like) other people are looking at us, including a police officer who happens to just be there as security and isn’t paying attention really, are wanting an explanation.
Nurse: “Can I help you find someone?”
Me: “Oh we were just looking for the nursery”
Nurse: “Is there a patient you are visiting?”
Me: “ummm nooo..”
Nurse: “I’m sorry, you can’t go in…”
At this point, Sister and I back-peddled our way out of there with apologies, feeling like strange gawking new-baby stalkers. I mean, I totally understand the point to the siren-door, and the questions at the front desk. If I were a new mother, sedated with drugs, I wouldn’t strangers just gawking at the window at my precious child I’d labored hours over. I probably wouldn’t want the kid out of my sight. I get it. It just was well…
and, an adventure-filled moment of today.