New Perspective

Mike and I are still not ready to tell the entire story of exactly what he has going on. We need to be at the tail end of this to be comfortable enough to share everything in excruciating detail. We both appreciate your patience and unending support.

That being said, there are more side-stories to this adventure than I could have ever imagined. People we’ve met, incidents we’ve witnessed, and hours we’ve logged have all contributed to this wild ride.

We’ve both become pros at waiting. The waiting is absolutely endless. Waiting in an Emergency Room (be it in Philly or Voorhees) for someone to realize that you’re in REAL distress. Waiting to have a test that will determine the extent of an imminent surgery. Waiting to be assigned to a room when you knew weeks before that you were going to be admitted to the hospital. I feel like we are entering the home stretch. Or in this case, the homeless stretch.

It was during the over seven hours of waiting today that several notable stories came to light. We were sitting (yet again) waiting for Mike to be assigned yet another (his fifth) room at The Hospital at the University of Pennsylvania.

We were not-so-patiently sitting and watching people come and go, when in walked a young woman clutching a dog – maybe a Yorkie mix? – and about six tote bags overflowing with blankets and other unidentifiable stuff. A man, who was there with a relative, approached her and asked about the dog. She spoke in a whisper, but said that the dog “was working.” The man looked slightly confused, but walked away. When it was finally her turn (we were STILL waiting) she went up to the check-in kiosk with only the dog. It was very hard to hear the answers to the questions she was being asked by Margaret, the Admissions Clerk. More on Margaret later. Anyway, the quiet woman (whose name I couldn’t discern, even though she spelled it out) clearly was homeless, and all her possessions went where she did. She was actually very pretty, and each time our eyes met (ok…I was really trying not to stare) I was searching to interpret meaning in her gaze. There was nothing.

Mike and I were chatting about how we hoped his room was on his “regular floor” instead of one of the alternates he’s had. His least favorite was the Neurology floor. It’s actually reasonably quiet, but most of the patients on that floor have had serious neurological issues or surgery, and it’s very sad to see. Quiet Woman, upon hearing our comment about neurology said “you don’t want to go to the Neurology floor – they mess with your brain there. I’m going there, but it’s the worst.” I told her how cute I thought her dog was, and she told me the dog was her daughter, and her name was Meghan Davis. The dog’s sweater matched the woman’s coat, and I told her how sweet they looked together. She then commented on my periwinkle purse, and asked me what I thought about autism, since purple is the Autism Awareness color. Talk about a loaded question. I told her I supported anything that helped those with autism. She seemed satisfied with my answer, clumsily gathered her belongings, and headed to her room. It became clear to me that she was suffering from some form of mental illness. I thought back to Margaret (who took care of her admittance) and how gently and kindly she spoke to her. She was my new hero. Our turn with Margaret was finally next.

Margaret was on her cell phone when we were called up to her desk. She apologized, and said she needed to make sure her grandson was picked up. She was trying to figure out what to do with us – there had been some paperwork confusion – and she was clearly embarrassed at how long we had been waiting. The situation was obviously not her fault, and she was so flustered that I asked her some questions about her grandson to diffuse her frustration. She told us he was two years old and she and her husband were raising him. She told me “I’m way too old for this, but I can’t bear the thought of him being in the system.” That phrase stopped me in my tracks. The SYSTEM. Without this amazing woman, this child would be in foster care somewhere in Philadelphia. Margaret told me she took someone’s shift, so she was working from 6:00 am til 7:30 pm because she needed the money. She showed me a picture of her adorable grandson in his tiger Halloween costume sitting with his Pop Pop. She also told me how wonderfully supportive her husband is, and that she couldn’t do it without him.

Angels do walk among us.

One thing became clear today. When I’m reflective or sad about the hand we’ve been dealt, I will think about Margaret, the Quiet Woman, the man with no legs whose wife changes his diapers, the elderly woman in a wheelchair who had no one with her as she was admitted into the hospital, and I will be grateful.