Dear Friends and Family,
Today we learned that even though Nancy is tolerating the medicine for CMV well and is slowly improving, it is now definite that Christmas Day will be spent in Room 506.
For the past few days, I have anticipated this news, but there is a part of me that had hoped for a Christmas miracle. However, we have quickly adjusted. On the twenty-fifth, I will (as usual) work, but my partners insist that I only work the second half of the day so our family can actually celebrate Christmas on Christmas Day morning. Kathleen, my partner, good friend, and riding companion, called me last week to inform me of my partners’ decision. She said, “You’ve volunteered to work on Christmas Day for as long as any of us can remember, Winnie. This year, at least, you will come in late in the day. The partner group insists and won’t hear anything different.” Jaret, Jayna, and I have embraced this change and have immediately begun preparing for the big day. Even the hospital staff has noticed.
“Oh my gosh, Nancy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen better decorations in a patient room.”
Hope should know. She’d been a nurse on the bone marrow transplant floor since before Jayna was born over twenty-two years ago. A Christmas tree, Santa’s sleigh, and a holly wreath that glitters in the afternoon sun are from my creative days when I made holiday presents out of stained glass and glass jewels. (Emmy, our Christmas angel, has provided almost all the other decorations.) Numerous strands of white lights camouflage the dull-brown hospital shelves. A basket of plastic branches and artificial flowers has turned the TV stand into a festive holiday display. Four bright Christmas stockings are hung from the towel rod behind Nancy’s bed. Emmy told me they were her “extras.” But I must admit, I wonder if it was a Christmas “fib.” (Who in the world has four extra matching elegant Christmas stockings just lying around?)
Finally, there is our perfectly shaped “too-cute-to-be-true” little tree perched ever so preciously on Nancy’s nightstand. It stands all of nearly three feet tall with short, stubby, symmetrical branches. Each branch drips with Emmy’s miniature ornaments. (Where did she find miniature decorations?) The tree “matches” the holiday gift from Joannie, our neighbor and close friend, who cleans the cobwebs and everything else that needs it at our Woodland home once a week. Since Nancy will not be venturing outside, Joannie has sent a handmade miniature wooden snowman. Nancy named him “No Frost” and has found him a seat of prominence on the last available shelf.
A short while ago, Hope handed Nancy a present: “This gift was delivered this morning, and you are supposed to open it now.”
Nancy read the handwritten tag: “We love you guys—our family is thinking of your family. Merry Christmas, Bob.” Bob Evers is one of my two original partners. We built our medical practice together, even raised our families together. His children are the same ages as Jaret and Jayna, and both sets of kids shared many milestones and friendships.
When Nancy opened the present, she found a hand-carved ivory-billed woodpecker inside wrapped in tissue paper. One of Bob’s many other talents is woodworking. The woodpecker’s movable wings spanned over two feet and the highly polished body was made from inlaid maple and red heartwood. “It is so beautiful, Winnie. Can we hang it above my bed so I can see it all the time?” I stood up to fetch the fifth floor’s ladder. “Wait,” Nancy said before I could leave the room. “Listen to the note.”
Nancy read slowly from a pink notecard with lacy fringe that she unknotted from around the woodpecker’s neck. The card was written in calligraphy by Bob’s lovely wife and Nancy’s very good friend, Anne. (You may recall that Anne is the lab tech who works at LDS Hospital, where Nancy was first admitted. She was the technician who took me to view the slides of Nancy’s “bad guy” leukemia cells.)
The card read, “The ivory-billed woodpecker had last been seen in 1944. Hence, all of the major bird experts and bird books declared it extinct. Last year, however, it was rediscovered in a swamp in Arkansas. Birders called it a miracle. The bird is thriving today. Like the ivory-billed woodpecker, most thought you would be ‘extinct.’ Having this bird in your room symbolizes the miracle we expect for you.” Each member of the Evers family had signed at the bottom of the note and sent their love.
Ten minutes later, our woodpecker was hanging from the light above Nancy’s bed, adding to the Christmas spirit.
Summary: A hand-carved, wooden bird that vigilantly flies just above her hospital bed now protects Nancy. The ivory-billed woodpecker is our symbol of hope and miracles and also a reminder of the amazing support given to us by our friends and family.
Very much love,
Winnie