What I always forget, in the rush and excitement of leaving for John Hopkins, is how *long* it takes to get down there. And then I always forget how much *waiting* you do in the hospital. You wait…..
Then you change locations, and wait some more…
And wait. (Big surprise, right?)
Than The Doctor comes in, and feels of her head,
Sits back benevolently, and tells you in mild terms what the matter is (a hematoma, or blood blister, easily caused in a head as fragile as hers by the lightest of bumps, or a shred of hardware. Something to be watched, nothing to be alarmed about.)
Than he stands, still benevolently, placidly bids us adieu, and God’s Blessing, and takes his leave. Dr. Carson, as you might surmise, is the sort of person you’d want around in a crisis. Very mild-mannered.
And so we all pile back into the van and “kick it into going home gear”, as my dad would say, arriving home at 10 pm. I must say I was a trifle dissapointed not to have her admitted, for purely selfish reasons. The hospital is *much* more exciting than a seven-hour car ride, and we have made friends there. Besides, it sometimes feels like a relief to have a change of duties. Carting cafeteria food up to a hospital room feels like a nice change after having to cart home-cooked food from stove to table. Not that I want Katya sick, mind you–I hate it when she is– but I’m an adaptive person, and I’ve learned to focus on the “roses”, for the most part. Besides, I always seem to forget how nasty it feels to watch someone I love suffer, when I’m not actually doing it.