10/3/2012
I am sitting in the cardiac wing of the Intensive Care Unit.
It’s fantastic. (joke)
The man laying 10 feet away from me is Grandpa Gib.
He’s NINETY.
Sleeping beauty at the moment, but he’s doing SO well.
Keeping two thumbs up, literally.
It’s smells sterile, similar to hand sanitizer.
Which is everywhere, by the way.
The steady sound of beeping never stops.
It’s the only consistent sound around here.
Grandpa looks like a fish with his mouth open.
Calmly breathing, very peacefully sleeping in the midst of
chatter and cleaning.
Our doors to the room are wide open.
Leaving the conversations of blood pressure and heartbeat to
flow right in.
The TV is on mute.
My Aunt keeps herself busy by rocking back and forth.
She walks around observing every detail of the room.
They’re doing some kind of remodeling in a protected area of
the wing.
The steady beeping is still going.
Now another beep joins it.
Grandpa has a pillow in the shape of a red heart lying on
top of him.
It has an icon of an actual pumping heart printed on it.
He’s stirring.
AWAKE.
Cough, sounds painful.
He moves the heart pillow under his chin to make it easier.
His frail arms, spotted with age, pull it back down.
He makes small chat.
Does a pretty good job of it.
Enter: two relatives.
Grandpa says, “Yeah, I think I’m going to make it now…maybe.”
Joking about his life. Oh man.
“I haven’t been out much.”
Makes the relatives smile. And Aunt Sandy and I laugh.
“Time to get up for some dinner!” says the Nurse.
Her name is Allison.
She’s so sweet…
Grandpa Gib's hands. 9/2/2012
The part of the hospital that blows my mind are the people
in the hospital. And I’m not necessarily talking about the patients. Let’s
think, who do you find in a hospital? I came up with the basic people I think of
and have decided to enlighten your lives with the people occupying the place I
find so devastatingly fascinating.
DOCTORS: They’ve
got a tough job to do. Lots of bad news, but within the bad is always some
good. Saving people, for instance,
has to be an incredible feeling. Can you imagine telling someone in a very sad
situation that they are going to live? Amazing.
NURSES: heroes.
Nurses never get the amount of credit they deserve. They do
SO much to help. They communicate with scared family members and make them feel
at home. They do a lot of explaining, because often times, they’re easier to
talk to than intimidating doctors. And if anything goes wrong, they’re running to help. These people are doing
a lot of tough things, but my goodness, they are truly lifesavers.
CLEANING GUY: Yesterday,
Grandpa was sleeping with the doors open, and a man who looks as if he’s
sitting on a Zamboni comes vrooming right in front of the doors. THREE TIMES.
This guy is just doing what he is told. Good for you, sir. And I wouldn’t look
anyone in the eyes, either.
PATIENTS: Leaving
the hospital at about 10:45 last night I thought to myself, how awful would it
be to stay in a hospital overnight? Even if you’re there for a positive reason,
it must be terrible to wake up to beeping, monitors, the smell of hand
sanitizer, an uncomfortable bed, and yet another
nurse saying, “Hi ______, I’m ______. I’m just going to do a quick check of
your blood pressure. Sound OK?” Let alone, the pain (assuming you’re not there
for the miracle of birth).
FAMILY: the ones
who struggle.
My experience in hospitals takes place mainly in ICU wings
or cancer wards. Neither one of those being places anyone wants to be……….ever.
The part of hospitals that catches me the most off guard every time is the people. If you look around, there are people
everywhere. The wives, husbands, kids, family friends, brothers, sisters,
pastors, classmates, and parents of those hurting people fill every corner of
the hospital.
The first kind
of people are those you can see are living at the hospital. The ones just
waiting, praying, hoping, that something will
get better today. These people, break
my heart. It’s routine for them. And as much as they dream of a nurse emerging
to share good news, they secretly hope no one comes out bearing more sad
reports. You can also tell by their children. The kids who are way
too comfortable in the setting of the hospital, running from family member
to family member, entertaining themselves with their iPods and acting normally
in an abnormal environment.
The second
kind are those who are confused. The family members who get called to come
visit, but are very uninformed and in a bit of shock. Everything happened so
fast, so they have not correctly gauged their reaction yet. They come in
nervous, but happy. Waiting to be informed.
Those who
are crying are the most heartbreaking. There is not one thing anyone can say to
make him or her feel better. Sitting at the Starbucks across from the surgery
wing yesterday, I watched a young woman walk by with puffy eyes and softly
crying, alone. No one is very affected by these people, which is the most
frightening part. No one looked or stared and watching the Starbucks baristas
work, unaffected, I wondered what they must see every day. Devastating.
In
conclusion, I’ve spent some time learning the ICU systems in Des Moines, and I
hate to think of what others have to go through in those same wings. I am so
incredibly grateful to every person who put their energy into having faith in
my Grandpa about four years ago. After 41 days, he got better. He couldn’t
speak to us, was not responsive, was hooked up to so many things that we were
not able to sit in with him, he lost a ton of weight, and looked like a
stranger and yet today, as my mom says, “You would never know.” A miracle was
performed by those ICU caretakers. I wish the best to anyone who finds themselves
in a waiting room. My prayers are with you, always.
