Dear Friends and Family,
At long last, it’s finally time to make a quick exit.
Since the current round of hospitalization had been unplanned, we didn’t have much to load into the back of the Subaru, which made packing the car a snap today. Unlike previous “rounds” we hadn’t brought any of the normal decorations. In fact, we didn’t even have Nancy’s pajamas to repack because when she was initially admitted, she hadn’t planned on staying. And then, once there, we concluded, “Why bother?” (So we didn’t! Everyone, including us, had hoped Nancy would be out in less than three days.)
We were really wrong this time, however.
This time, Nancy spent nineteen days in Room 506.
“How many times have we done this, Dadder?”
“Let’s see.” Even though the last seven months are somewhat a blur because I live mostly day to day, this particular statistic didn’t require much thought: “This is our fifth hospitalization, Jayna. But only our second move back to the apartment from the hospital.”
Going back to the apartment again was like watching the same movie for the second time. I noticed many things anew that had been missed upon my initial viewing. Coming back to the apartment was like seeing new characters, scenery, and dialogue. The steps from the car to the front door were longer than I remembered. (Especially after I made seven trips to bring in fresh groceries.) The front door didn’t close easily and made a squeaky noise that will wake up everyone when I arrive home late from work at the clinic. The kitchen appeared much older and smaller than when Nancy went back into the hospital three weeks ago. The purple-flowered wallpaper looked like something from the old TV show The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. (There isn’t even an icemaker in the refrigerator.)
By far the worst aspect of the apartment is the room we have “designated” Jayna’s bedroom. It’s pretty obvious now, but we somehow missed its original purpose. Her “bedroom” was designed to be the dining room. It doesn’t have any doors. And it can’t even properly be considered to be part of an open floor plan because it is conveniently located in the middle of the passageway between the living room and the kitchen.
As I walked through Jayna’s bedroom and put the last bag of groceries on the kitchen counter, I silently chuckled to myself about the many blemishes I now recognize in the harsh light of our return visit. With perspective, though, the apartment’s character flaws pale in significance to what’s truly important.
When I stop for a moment and glance into our bedroom, Nancy is already asleep. It is a deep and serene slumber aided by the realization that she is out of the hospital at last. I find myself smiling even though I know that the apartment will be our home for the next three to six months. In the future, no one will awaken Nancy to check her blood pressure. The only beep she might hear will come from my phone if I forget to make the switch to silent mode when I climb into bed late at night. She will be able to venture not only to a bathroom but also a kitchen, an ex–dining room/bedroom, and a living room with couches and chairs. She will be able to wear as little or as much clothing as her heart desires without the fear that a stranger will interrupt to check equipment or a medicine cart.
My reverie was interrupted when Jayna tapped me on the shoulder, grabbed my hand and lead me to the living room: “I know what you are thinking Dad. My bedroom is fine. We’ll be fine.”
Clearly our apartment has some now obvious warts, but at the same time, it also has some fantastic “smiles” that fill the apartment with happiness.
After all, in the end, what really matters?
Loved ones, family, and close friends are what matter in the world. We have made it through another crisis, and the love of my life, though weak and tired, is ready to resume her recovery.
I can say without any hesitation—I’ll take the apartment every time, warts and all.
Summary: Though much of the luster is gone, we are pleased to be back into our Salt Lake City apartment and out of the hospital. We are upbeat at the moment and certainly hoping from here on out for a smoother ride.
Hopefully yours,
Winnie