THE HOSPITAL

"Waiting was often a resented gift, imparted to those who accepted it grudgingly in the hopes that something better would come along when the gift was tossed aside, boxed away for the next recipient."......Gina Marinello-Sweeney, The Rose and the Sword

The room was labeled "Nurses Only." A mid-size room located on the first floor of the biggest and busiest hospital in the city. It was the nurse's haven. It was a place to wait until one’s shift started, a place to rest aching feet, coffee and lunch breaks, hurried phone calls, a quick smoke, and a recovery room for those occasional 'nurse meltdowns.'

Today, like all days, the room smelled of stale coffee, sweet rolls, and two-day-old pizza. This slightly nauseating mixture was made even more unpleasant by an occasional toxic whiff emanating from the refrigerator. The culprit - a tuna sandwich that had been incubating in the box well past its death-defying date. And the ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts, coated with 'Hot Red' and 'Passion Pink' lipstick, contributed even more to the room's yuck factor.

It was a little past 1:00 pm, and only one young woman now sat in the room. Two hours ago, she had received an emergency phone call from her mother, telling her to expect another phone call within the hour. A call so life-altering that she could not focus on her nursing duties. Thanks to a compassionate charge nurse, the young woman left her duties to wait for the call in the lounge.

As she fidgets with her wedding ring, a ring that is a family heirloom, her thoughts strayed back to two years ago, almost to the date. The day she and Jack were married. The weather was beautiful, the mood light and happy. Champaign flowed faster and faster as the music grew louder and louder. Everyone was having a good time, especially she and Jack. There were many unforgettable moments that day, but her favorite was her brother's toast to the newlyweds. Looking at her, he raised his glass and said, "Watching my sister and Jack together is as pleasing and refreshing as watching Bogie and Bacall fall in love on screen."

Their future held no boundaries. No impediments were blocking their way from having a successful marriage and fulfilling life. They both felt so fortunate, so grateful.... like their lives had been touch by the elusive Angel of Happiness.

But soon, roadblocks did begin to appear. The first came on December 1, 1969, a year and a half after their wedding. That was the day Jack's birthdate came in as #2 in the Vietnam Lottery. Although devastated, she and Jack made a joke out of the number, reckoning it could have been worse. It could have been #1. Less than two months later, Jack was in Vietnam, and three months after that, the official notification came. Jack was missing in action.

For two months, the young nurse had been living inside a fog of unbearable uncertainty. A life turned upside down by three letters - MIA. She remembered little of her waking hours but forgot nothing of the torturous nightmares that occupied her sleep. Each hour, each minute, each second, she prayed for the return of her husband, for the return of her life before the letters MIA disrupted all.

This morning, the call came in. Conclusive evidence of her husband's fate had been uncovered by the Army, but regulations prevented telling anyone of the news other than next of kin. Her mother informed authorities where they could reach Jack's wife, and here she sat waiting in this all too familiar room—waiting for the phone to ring, waiting to hear if her husband were alive or dead. Waiting and more waiting, wondering if tonight would be a celebration or another round of nightmares?

At the same time, in the ICU waiting room on the 7th floor of the same hospital, a family huddled together, holding hands and sharing the unspoken. Some of the women were weeping; others were lost deep in thought or prayer. A few of the men were nervously pacing as if somehow each step would walk away the helplessness of the situation.

The room was austere with little decor—a crucifix on one wall and a painting of a waterfall on the opposite wall: several couches and lounge chairs along with a few lamps and tables. Whoever designed the decor took the approach that color, texture, and ornament were unimportant to this area. Perhaps the decorator thought simplicity better served those waiting here, for it allowed them to focus on the gravity of the situation. To focus on their emotions, rather than their surroundings.

The waiting room location, directly across the hall from the ICU control Center, was conducive for allowing families to receive frequent updates and be physically close to their loved ones. Looking out the door, one could see and hear all types of medical equipment. Monitors that beeped with each heartbeat, monitors that signaled blood pressure highs and lows, and those all-important monitors that warn of impending death as they emit a loud, ominous, and powerful sound.  Much like Gabriel’s trumpet,  – “So start to blow, Gabriel, blow! Go on and blow, Gabriel, blow! I want to join your happy band, And play all day in the promise land, So blow, Gabriel, blow!”

Several hours ago, word went out. The patriarch of the family had suffered a massive heart attack and rushed to the hospital, where he was immediately placed in intensive care and listed in critical condition. It was his second heart attack in as many years, and the prognosis was dire.

One by one, his adult children arrived, guided to the ICU waiting room where they found their mother—a little lady who looked even more petite while in the grasp of fear and uncertainty. She was losing the man who had been by her side for the last 52 years, and she was frightened. Just minutes earlier, the doctor told her to prepare for the worse, but she did not know what was worse - watching the man she has loved all these years die or the dismal reality of her world after his death.

Directly below the 7th floor was the Imaging Department, with its own waiting room. In contrast to the ICU waiting room, this room was adorned with modern oil and metallic art. The walls were painted with soothing autumn colors. Comfortable chairs lined those same walls, and magazines of all types were readily available for reading.

All in all, it was a reasonably pleasant place to hang about. Patients moved through the room in assembly-line fashion, rarely waiting for more than ten minutes before having to endure the claustrophobic tunnel of an MRI or CT scan. Some patients had a companion with them for emotional support or simply to keep them company. Others needed assistance because of their old age, while others needed supervision because of their young age. Such was the case of the young boy not so patiently waiting to be called for his MRI scan. He was flanked on the right by his father, on the left by his mother.

The boy was fidgeting as all five-year-old boys will do if confined to a small space for any length of time. He was not nervous, only anxious to return home, have dinner, and play with his assortment of toys. However, both the father and mother were showing a great deal of nervousness. Their mannerisms, tone, and worried expressions all indicated they were emotionally ill-prepared for this experience. It is hard enough to nurture and raise a child - a child with a future. But how do you do the same for a child with perhaps no tomorrow and the thought of their boy not having the same future as his playmates, as any healthy child was taking its toll.

The concern with the young boy's condition began a month ago when he started tripping and falling when there was nothing to trip over. Soon after that observation, he started complaining of headaches so severe that he would cry out during the middle of the night in inconsolable pain. Three weeks later, his parents were sitting in the Neurologist's office, absolutely stunned by what they were just told. Both were speechless, unable to compose themselves enough to ask even the most straightforward question. The tentative diagnosis was not encouraging, but an MRI would be required to verify the Neurologist's suspicion.

A technician escorted the youngster to the imaging room and helped him get situated on the table as required. The entire procedure was going to take up to 60 minutes - a lifetime to a 5-year-old. Under the circumstances, a little sedation was needed. Meanwhile, the parents remained in the waiting room, silently fearing the worse yet struggling to stay as positive as possible under the circumstances. Neither could imagine life without their little son. That sweet boy whose birth had rescued a marriage from divorce. The innocent child who taught two very selfish people the art of caring, the art of putting another before themselves.

It was a little past 4:30 pm when the technician approached the couple who now had the waiting room all to themselves. "Your son did fine and is waking from the sedation now. We'll bring him to you in about fifteen minutes." Somewhat relieved, the couple sat back down, held each other's hand, and silently returned to that enigmatic space between hope and fear.

A few minutes later, the couple looked up to see the Neurologist walking towards them, films in hand.

As the Neurologist sat down next to the waiting couple, a musical chime sounded throughout the hospital announcing the birth of a child. A practice the hospital started three years ago - a little musical celebration heralding the beginning of a life. No matter what floor one is on, no matter one’s age or physical condition, no matter if one is a patient, visitor, employee or professional, the chime always elicits smiles and seems to awaken the ‘better angels’ in all of us, even if only for a brief minute.

The birthing area of the hospital was located on the second floor, and like any maternity ward, there is the mandatory baby bowl, a glass enclosure where all the babies are on display for family and friends to get their first look.  If a father chooses not to be in the birthing room, then it is through this glass wall where he sees his son or daughter for the first time. Where a youngster gets their first look at that new baby brother or sister and where grandparents view the grandchild they will spend years spoiling.  

Across from the baby bowl is the waiting room. Murals of children overlay walls painted in blue and pink. The room is light and bright, reflecting the hopes and dreams of those who wait patiently for a new arrival. The selection of furniture was made with the knowledge that there would be long periods of waiting in this room, so the furniture needed to be extra comfortable. An ample supply of oversized relaxing recliners was positioned throughout the room and, by the looks of the worn upholstery, received a great deal of use.

This day had been a particularly busy day for the ward; five single births and one set of identical twins. And the waiting room was just as active as family members paced up and down, drank coffee and sodas, smoked, and snacked on candy bars and potato chips as they waited for the newest addition to their clan.

One middle-aged man had been in the room eighteen hours waiting for the birth of his son. Actually, if truth be told, the wait had been going on for eighteen years. This evening was the culmination of excitement followed by disappointment; intoxicating moments when the pregnancy test came back positive only to end up in a funk weeks later following the miscarriage. It could be said that for eighteen years, he and his wife lived in a bipolar marriage. But finally, with the medical guidance of a specialist, his wife was able to carry to term a healthy 7lb boy. And when he first saw his son, he realized every disappointment and frustration; every struggle was a small price to pay for this beautiful child.

He kissed his wife goodnight, looked in on his son one more time, and then headed for the parking lot. It was 5:00 pm, and he was exhausted, but it was an exhilarating exhaustion.

Walking toward his car, he passed a young couple, each holding one of a young boy's hands, probably their son, he thought. The child was skipping along, with the parents trying their best to keep up. The youngster slowed down a bit when passing two men helping an older lady into a car. They called her mom and handled her gently and with care. When maneuvering into the car, her small purse dropped to the ground. A young nurse bent down, picked up the purse, and handed it to the elderly lady who graciously thanked the young nurse and then noticed the wedding ring. "What a beautiful wedding ring," she said. The young nurse smiled as she looked at the ring on her finger and replied, “It belonged to my great grandmother.”