This is very different.
It’s not necessarily wrong, but it is very different.
Triann and I have spent a lot of time in this hospital, but this time it is very very different.
For those of you that have never been to MD Anderson or a cancer-specific hospital, it is a very different experience. For some perspective, in 2017 the hospital provided 1.4 million outpatient appointments (clinic visits, treatments, procedures). To say this is a busy building is an understatement. Now stop and process that for just a moment. All 1.4 million of those appointments were related to cancer. There were no baby’s born. There were no broken bones. No gal bladders. Nothing but cancer-related appointments. Everyone you see in the hall is dealing with this thing.
Some have just found out what has been causing them discomfort. Some have just found out that it has gone away. Some have just found out it can’t be stopped. Some have just found out they lost a family member or a friend.
The hallway is filled with wheelchairs, walkers, bandanas, wigs, canes, IV poles, masks, bandages, robes, scrubs, pajamas, flowers, toys, and pictures.
The people themselves are what has fascinated me since we started coming down in 2008. If you can take a deep breath and look up in the hallway you will see everything. Faces can tell a lot of stories and this is like a library.
There are all of the standard emotions you could imagine in this place; fear, anger, shock, relief, resignation. But deeper than that, you can see the bigger picture. You can see the hope, the hopelessness, the determination, the love, the exhaustion, the new found energy. You can see glances between people saying “I’ll miss you”, “we’ve got this”, “I’m tired”, and “we won!”. All during a walk from one appointment to the next. There is a lot to see.
It would be easy and perfectly acceptable to just keep your head down and go from appointment to appointment, and I think most people start like that, but eventually looking up can let you connect, if only briefly, with another person who is in the same war as you, even if they are in a different battle.
That is one of the gifts of this place, a deep and clear understanding that you are not the only one going through this. There are others that have fought, are fighting and will fight a similar battle.
This is one of the things that I look forward to when we come down here. Walking the halls and sitting in the waiting rooms. Just taking in life from a very different perspective.
But today is different.
Today the kids are with me.
They have not been this close to this place before, and they actually aren’t allowed to go through the halls or to the waiting rooms. So for the first time since we started this journey, Triann is going to her appointments by herself and I am hanging in the cafeteria with the kids.
It is different. We have been talking and telling stories. We talked about our history here and what is going on with Triann today. We shared a meal and now we are all taking advantage of fast free WIFI!
It is a good time, hanging out with them, but it is different.
It is very different. I am seeing some of the patients come in and out, but mainly doctors and employees. Maintenance workers and the food staff. Administration, Clergy and First Responders. All very important people, and frankly a very different group to observe then I am used to. These people are all at work.
This is just Wednesday to them. Another day at the job. There could be a crisis, but it is most likely very similar to last Wednesday and the Wednesday before. I am overhearing conversations about the Olympics, valentines plans. Supervisors, employees and new policies. There is talk about what they are eating and when they have to be back. Some sit by themselves in the corner, some pull tables together and laugh and talk in a group. It is very very different.
I wonder if that is the lesson I am to take from this. In the big picture is there a lot of difference between the employees Wednesday and the patients Wednesday? Today is Wednesday. It is a Wednesday that God knew about since the beginning of time. I’m putting significance on it because of the appointments, and tests that are going on today. But God sees this like any other day, it is my perspective that is different.
So that’s different. Looking at the day as another day, instead of with dread or as something that needs to be conquered. Maybe it’s my mind that needs to be defeated. My doubts, my fears, my concerns, my worry. There is no need to be brave if there is nothing to be afraid of. That feels very different.
So I will do this a little different. I will watch the normal Wednesday playing out in the cafeteria and use it as a reminder to focus on the normality of the day.
That is all very different. but one thing remains the same, regardless of my new found clarity.
The coffee is terrible.
So true. I spent the better part of the first 6 months of Ethan’s life in the NICU… Everyday I would go, sit and wait. Sometimes, head down we’d go straight to the NICU. When we finally slowed down and looked around we really had a moment to see people. They were all there experiencing different things. My journey was unique; but so was theirs. People walking to appointments, people visiting loved ones, people working in all areas of the hospital. Just normal days playing out in the midst of our perpectives. Sometimes we wanted desperately to connect with others and other times others needed to connect with us or someone else and when we would get out of ourselves for just a moment some great God moments were made during this time. And other times we needed to grieve silently as we walked the halls. Grieve the loss of Ethan’s twin. Grieve the loss of normal life with healthy babies. Others had similar stories. We weren’t allowed to talk about them inside the NICU so sometimes we’d linger just outside the doors till our comrade parents would come or go and we could share. This perspective rings so true. Thank you for sharing your day. Praying for you all and I hope you get a better cup of coffee sooner rather than later!