hospital (free association)

So, Dad's been in the hospital this week. He went in Sunday night with chest pains, and they've been running tests on him every day. It's not fun, but he's a good sport, the news hasn't been awful (no heart damage), and while having a clear diagnosis would be nice, things could be a lot worse.

Hospitals fascinate me. I used to hate them, but then I worked in one for four months, doing my chaplaincy training for seminary. Since then, I've visited a lot of patients, doing pastoral care for the churches in which I've worked. Weirdly, I sort of enjoy hospitals now. I wish I could map out the web of relationships that form between people there.

You can form odd little bonds with strangers in hospitals. While waiting in the catheterization lab on Wednesday, I sat near a pudgy little man in a blue hockey jersey. Today, I saw him on my Dad's unit, hovering outside a patient's room, trying to get a nurse's attention, wearing the same jersey and looking like he hadn't been home since I saw him last. We nodded to each other with that rueful, silent communion, "Yes, my person is still here too."

There was another lady in the waiting room yesterday who, when I asked generally for directions to the restroom, never lifted her eyes from her magazine. "Rude," I thought. But when I returned to the room, she looked at me with a kind smile and a story about how lost she got when she tried to find the restroom herself. When I left the waiting room, we said, "Goodbye," and "Take care," like we were friends.

One of Dad's nurses wears a roller derby pin on her scrubs. Turns out, she plays for the Blue Ridge Rollergirls. I'm going to their next match, for my birthday. We had the most fun today talking about the importance of being badass women, and teaching that respect to the men in our lives, as well as ourselves.

I have a black eye and several bruises, from an argument I had with a staircase last weekend. It's a little weird to watch people at the hospital try to figure out if I'm a patient or a visitor, and to school their expressions accordingly. I'm not used to having something about my appearance invite people to judge me instantly. It's disconcerting, and apparently embarrassing, since I keep having defensive diatribes in my head about it.

The volunteer at the heart tower desk has beautiful dreds, and recognizes me now. She waves me through without making me take a visitor's badge.

I love when Dad gets visitors. You hear that knock on the door, and it could be someone to draw his blood, or bring his meds, or be likewise invasive...or, it could be his brother, or a friend, or someone from church, carrying flowers. Those visits make all the difference. Dad's so pleased when people take time to show they care about him.

Speaking of church, it's in times like these that churches really shine. Flowers, calls, emails, visits, dinners...the community is the best kind of family. I couldn't do without it.

It'd be great if there were some database we could access that kept track of all Dad's test results, with explanations, and schedules (even estimated) for the next tests. It's really trying to have to figure out who knows what, and when they will be by to tell you about it.

Few things mean as much to me as honest, earnest, loving prayer offered by a friend. Our pastor held my hand and Dad's, and prayed, and my breath just whooshed out of me. Something got loosened up and set free.

So yeah, I don't mind hospitals, I guess. At least I get to walk out of them at the end of the day. Hopefully Dad will as well, tomorrow.