||[Mar. 10th, 2005|11:03 am]
This morning, I paid $4.00 to button my coat.
Got Kristi into the hospital just before 6am, and they were very efficient at getting her into a room. The surgery unit at the Cleveland Clinic is about the most streamlined process I have seen, but it did rather give the impression of being on a conveyer belt. Anyway, they got us into a room, then pitched me back out into the waiting room while Kris changed and they got an I.V. going. After about half an hour, they called me back in. We were expecting to have an hour or two to kill, and so had stopped by Walgreens to pick up trashy movie star magazines, but I was only allowed in for a goodbye and off they wheeled her.
Knowing how long this surgery would take, there was no reason for me to just sit there all day, so I went back to the front desk and gave them contact numbers. Then I bundled myself back up to face the chill of Cleveland's lovely March weather.
Blast me and my buttons.
The first hour of parking is free. I pulled into the parking garage at 5:53. I pulled out at 6:54. One minute, and I had to pay the hour to hour-and-a-half rate. This lack of even a minute's cushion seems rather miserly to me, but whatchagonnado?
I called in the first time at 9:14. They were able to tell me that Kristi had gone into surgery 17 minutes earlier - right on time. I'm limiting myself to a call every two hours, so now I'm trying not to clock watch. And failing miserably. I was pretty impressed by their waiting room set-up - very roomy and comfortable, and there are large computer screens that give status updates on the patients. It looked like airport flight information: Left kidney now debarking at surgery gate 10. Still, it's better than not having any idea what's going on.
I'm working hard at convincing myself to stay at the office all day. That is less easy than I thought it would be. But there is plenty of work on my desk to distract me. Updates as I know anything.
And I did just call in. There apparently aren't updates during surgery, just when she finishes. Being that it's an eight-hour surgery, that's gonna be a while....
*sends out waves of good thoughts*
Hang in there, sweetie.
It's going to probably be the longest 8 hours of your life.
Labor was longer, but not by much.
Light and love to you and yours, milady Zoethe.
If anyone deserves the positive karma today, its you and Kristi. Best of luck.
Kristi is in so many thoughts today... we are all hoping for the best.
1) Due to corporate dress codes and lack of more sophisticated I/O devices, I can't keep any of my fingers crossed for any length of time. But I've got some toes crossed that things go well today. Some people pray: I contort myself and hope for the best. Ideally, neither is necessary, but at very worst I figure these gestures don't hurt anyone.
2) I react with varying levels of squeam to different sorts of gore, depending on a lot of factors (real/fake, my emotional attachment to the people involved, etc.), so I'm not sure if this would be good for me or not, but I've often wondered if it mightn't be helpful to allow concerned next-of-kin or whomever to watch (through a glass partition, or from a balcony, like in some teaching hospitals... or maybe CCTV?) the procedures, possibly in the company of a trained professional capable of explaining things and answering questions one might have about what's going on. That way, maybe people wouldn't have to worry so much? Probably not a great solution for everyone, but were I designing a hospital with customer satisfaction in mind, this is a feature I'd seriously consider providing for interested parties.
3) I used to work as a 3rd-shift parking attendant at a hospital, which isn't so much different from booth-jockeying at car lots anywhere else, I guess, except that it's much harder to tell people who're protesting the cost of their parking to fuck off when they're driving themselves home with fresh bruises, broken bones, and just-stitched wounds. Sympathy factor aside, you have to wonder if someone that tough (or stoned on pain meds) can put a fist through your decidedly-not-bulletproof (as evidenced by the occasional robbery/shooting of your co-workers) window and get at you before security can get there.
Thogh dismayed, I was polite. I know it's not the booth attendee's fault that the rules are so stingy.
gesundheit to your sister. and good luck.
You and Kristi are in my thoughts all day.
best of our love and luck coming at you for Kristi.. ~hugs~
I'll be prayin' from now 'til we hear from you how it went...for her and you and all of yours.
Good luck to you both...
Is there someone else waiting at the hospital? During my mom's surgeries, they wanted a family member there at all times.
They did not require someone to be there, since they had my contact info, but our other sister, Michele, is probably there by now.
I am glad this day has finally come. I pray that all goes well and Kristi moves on to a swift recovery.
All my hopes and thoughts. I'm so glad this is finally happening for Kristi. And for you, for that matter.