So, having been in hospital now for almost three weeks waiting for my sparkly new lungs, I’ve made a few observations.
Natural sunlight is in fact necessary to human function and sanity. Loss of it results in loss of time awareness, such as:
“What time is it?”
“Oh, I thought it was 6 in the evening.”
This also results in thinking either less or more time had passed than has really passed at all. Frustrating when waiting for an important event, for example, a lung transplant. Times like this really call for a TARDIS.
Nurses have much better enunciation and handwriting then doctors. And manners. And personalities. And hair.
The more you drink sub-par, watered-down hospital coffee, the better you think it tastes. Seriously, at 5 AM, it’s simply fantastic.
But, most of all, the observation I’ve had the absolute pleasure of making the three weeks is that I simply have the most fantastic group of family and friends of any person on the planet. Hands down. Period.
When my illness first became intense, I went through a sort of culling period, where I realized that some couldn’t handle my situation, and that I was going to have to come to terms with the fact that I was going to lose people during the progression of my illness. I think anyone who’s gone through a serious health trauma has experienced this. While understandable, it can be shocking at first.
But I soon recovered. I realized that the people that stayed with me would always be there, no matter what. And that quality is what really matters, not quantity. Life lesson. Check.
When Leland and I relocated to Houston for my transplant, I’ll be honest, I was nervous. But, there was no need. The floodgates of our Christian brotherhood was opened to us, and we have been overwhelmed by the love and hospitality of all of our new friends! We’ve had food, drinks, crafts, books, pampering supplies, games, cute stuffed animals, etc, etc, all delivered right to my room by smiling faces every single day.
Not to mention all the calls, cards, emails, tags, and texts from my dear friends everyday.
My greatest fear I think was that I would sit in my hospital bed and life would go on and everyone would forget I was there and I would be alone. I said as much to our dear friend Sterling early on I this process. He told me that would never happen. And he was so right.
Recently, some friends came and played a game with us where you guess a card you can’t see on your head. You continue to ask the other players questions until you can figure out your item. One question Leland asked us about his card was, “Am I a useful thing?”
To my support system, my friends, family, congregation here in Houston and at home in Jasper, I say to you, you are a useful thing. The most amazing useful thing to me right now. And I thank you for all you do. And for who you are. And for being here through it all.