She was almost relieved by the time the police got there at 10 pm. We've had cops before who were angry at being called over such a petty thing as a parent being unable to control her child, but these three were great. They called the EMTs and we sat on the deck as they cleaned me up. The NCAA final game was going on and my sister kept texting me the score so I could keep them posted. I was finally cleared to drive myself to the hospital to be stapled and the policewoman took Elizabeth. I really like this particular cop; once before when she came, Elizabeth took off running. She surveyed the situation and dryly radioed for "backup wearing running shoes." And she never yells at me.
She stayed in the ER with us and we watched the game in the hall. It's a good thing she had a gun; she was a UNC fan and Duke was beating Butler and I think they could probably have heard her in Indianapolis. But no one told her to leave, and during the last minute of the game everything came to a stop as the full ER staff and patients expressed their various basketball loyalties. It was a nice moment of camaraderie.
At 1:00 am, they came to get me to staple my head back together. I'm in a state-of-the-art teaching hospital, and I had high hopes of some amazing technology. But no, they pulled out a staple gun. "Ka-chunk! Ka-chunk! Ka-chunk! Ka-chunk!" It sounded and felt just like you'd imagine having your head stapled would feel. I can't wait to see how much each of those four staples cost me. I should have gone to Home Depot; surely it would have been cheaper. It seems to me that duct tape would have worked too, but I guess that would have hurt more when they took it off.
Back to her side of the ER, where at 3:00 am we finally see a psychiatrist. He wants to admit her, but there are no beds. He suggests we sleep in the ER and see what opens up in the morning. We do this. Finally at 2:30 pm the next day, a bed opens up and we go up to the unit.
Elizabeth has been here before and feels comfortable and safe, especially when she has felt so out of control. The hospital school is great, there are kids to play with and they watch a movie every night. She settles in nicely. We've done this before and we both know our parts.
But something is different this time. Her blood sugar is dangerously high and tests show it has been for months. We receive a new diagnosis—diabetes. No wonder she was irritable and angry—she must have felt horrible. They start her on insulin and she really perks up. I go home and start the process of cleaning out the pantry and refrigerator. There will need to be some big changes.
I arrived at the hospital at 7:00 am this morning to learn how to do finger sticks and give insulin shots. I walked through the various connected buildings that make up UNC Hospitals: the general hospital where I had Claire, the children's hospital, then the women's, neuro-psych, and the cancer hospital. In every lobby there were people sleeping in chairs, staring out the windows, or walking restlessly. I wanted to stop each one and ask their story. They weren't there because it was a nice place to hang out. Someone they loved was upstairs and the exhaustion and pain on their faces told me the news wasn't good.
Those people will drive home at some point today, to feed the cat or to take a shower. They may stop at the bank to get more cash for the parking garage. Know that. Just assume that the car in front of you who doesn't go through the light fast enough, that the man fumbling his deposit at the bank, that woman who is taking forever filling her gas tank, just assume they are one who is living with great pain at the moment. Maybe not, but give them the benefit of the doubt. I can tell you from experience how much small kindnesses mean at these times. Forget random acts of kindness; it needs to be deliberate and systematic. Patience and a smile may give someone the strength to go back to that hospital and deal with interminable waits and bad news.
Walking through the lobby this morning I found myself praying the prayer from compline. Here it works 24/7.
Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake.
Amen.
