It is almost midnight. One year ago today Stephen was transported to Mayo. His dad and I (and Amelia and stepMIL) followed the amblulance that took him there. The buildings of the Mayo clinic towered over the truck topper camper and the wind battered us as we parked and found our way to the emergency room.
What I learned in the days that followed was that those folks at Mayo have got their shit together. Everything is done “war-room” style. Whole departments, shifts, wings and sheafs of chart paper working together to form a unified front. The hand always knew what the foot was doing. Always. I also learned that while Mayo is *very* patient friendly, they are less than friendly with visitors. At least at first. Once they figured out that I wasn’t leaving…once they figured out that I really did know what I was talking about and that I really did give a shit I got a little more props. At least from the nurses. And they were the ones that counted.
This day, one year ago, was the last one that he saw from his own bed. It was the last time he had breakfast with his daughters. It was the last time he rode in a car.
And so it begins…
As a sidenote, I wore my comfiest pants today. They are french terry capris that happen to be white. I know, I know. I’ve broken my personal cardinal rule of fashion: no white pants, not now, not ever. I have only worn these pants two other times: the first was the day we traveled to UIHC to determine that “My friend, this is going to take your life” and the second was the day, almost five months later, that he died. I remember sitting on a stone bench in front of the hospital making the phone calls and watching the sun come up on that crystal fall morning. The bench was very cold and slightly damp from dew. I remember being glad for the thickness of the pants and that I had chosen them over track pants which would sure have frozen my ass right off.
Remembering all this about the pants will make me never want to wear them again despite their comfort. I’m sure they will be repurposed into something that somebody’s infant will crap in. Because I’m handy like that.