[This article is part one in a two part series. Part two is available here.]
Something is dreadfully wrong with the universe as I’ve known it. I fear the only way to deal with this situation is to curl up and take a nap. I’ve phoned and actually reached two living, breathing human being service persons in one afternoon.
I returned home after spending a week at my father-in-law’s side in a Florida hospital. After seemingly endless days, the floor of the Medical ICU looked rather inviting. Especially since my only other option was the hard, straight back chairs lining the walls. Today, after a night in my own bed, I deemed myself no more incoherent than usual and decided to call the hospital administrator.
I reached her assistant, a live, kind, human being, who patiently listened to my list of concerns. The waiting room was the tundra. We walked through the 84 degree parking lot in our turtleneck sweaters and jackets to the stares of native Floridians in their Bermuda shorts and tropical shirts, then huddled under blankets once in the waiting room. There were no barcoloungers, couches, or piece of furniture other than the chairs. Late at night, when the nurse popped his head in the door and announced, “He’s unstable, don’t leave this room,” it would have been handy to have a place to snooze.
The basement cafeteria is not open all day and only takes cash — not exactly conducive to family members who jumped in an ambulance before breakfast, spent 6 hours in the ER without food, water, or cash. It’s also a scary place at 3 a.m. when you’re so desperate and sleep deprived, you find yourself fogging up the vending machine glass, drooling over a packet of stale pretzels — if you only had the seventy-five cents correct change. We were initially thrilled to see a Starbucks counter down there until we learned it was only open limited hours on weekdays. And the barista made it clear she was going to finish her lunch before waddling back behind the counter to make my latte.
I told the nice lady how our local hospital surgery center provides drinks and light snacks for family members so we can keep up our strength, without straying far from word of our loved one. Even simple coffee or ice-water service in the ICU waiting room would help. And not that I’m sure I want one in there, but we brought in our own TV to watch the Saturday football games. Dad’s ICU room, the one with the TV, has space for only one visitor.
The assistant got my name and phone numbers, then gave me the names of the administrators in charge of the hospital and ICU. “They may not be able to get back to you this afternoon, but I’ll make sure they get this and call you.” She called within the hour.
Stay tuned until next week for the rest of the story — it’s time for that nap.
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at BusStopMommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)
