The Secret

They mentioned it last week but I told them to stop. I am afraid to hope because this disease sends a band of marauders to kill my dreams as it leaves my lips. Last week I purchased my $235 monthly hospital parking pass and (fought with the snotty cashier who tried to tell me my new purchase was expired because she didn't realize we aren't in January yet), and I took Jason's stuff home preparing for another month at Columbia. The last time they said I would be leaving the hospital something happened, several something's and then I didn't leave. But yesterday at 9AM under a clear blue sky like I asked, Freddy Kreuger left  Jason and I alone for a minute and I got the call that Jason was going to be transported via ambulance from Columbia to Rehab.

I have seen when people leave and it always seemed sad. Even if in reality they were headed to a better place, just seeing people in beds, their eyes peeking through hospital blankets with a swatch of speckled hospital gown looking afraid or disoriented makes you pity them. I didn't want Jason pitied. I dressed him in his own clothes: grey sweatpants, grey shirt and grey beanie. I couldn't let him be marched out the front door in a hospital gown and blanket. I needed everyone who saw him for the 5 seconds he hit the streets to know he is loved, he is cared for and he has a mother. I did not get excited the entire way there because I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it didn't. 

In fact, the strangest thing happened. We were both washed over with a sense of calm. When we arrived The ambulance doors were opened and huge green elephants greeted us with the scent of freshly cut grass. The sunlight reflected off the green and on both I and Jason who suddenly closed his eyes and relaxed. There was peace and tranquility here, and it reflected off of everything. The flowers and walkway, all pristinely kept, led to a glass hallway with larger than life nutcrackers saluting us in brightly colored uniforms as we passed them by. 

The hallways are bathed in colors, the children some in wheelchairs were smiling and laughing and giving a sense of life to a place built to deal with so much obstacle that there should be no room for joy-yet there is. It helped me to accept that this was the place for Jason. Home is the only place he should be, but in this case-I am okay with where he is. 

I met my new team and they are an amazing bunch of people. No more white coat scientist in classroom style huddles asking me redundant questions. These are actual people who react and have emotion and who want to give Jason the joy this place seems to project. I speak directly to them, and them to me.

No more nurse practitioners who give sub-par care and attending doctors avoiding to speak to me. (I will deal with them later.)

I left Jason asleep, for the first time in days in his new private bedroom with his new caregivers and I came home for the night. I didn't have a panic attack when I left. I didn't need any meds. Exactly two months tomorrow since this began and Jason is on the road to recovery. Bless the hands of those who care for him. Thank you for their wisdom and patience.

God's got this. In God I trust and I do not fear.

Amen