The Invisible Black Woman

Some point between 4 and 5 AM, not quite sure which, I finally drifted off for a solid stretch. Next thing I now, it was 6 AM and my alarm was going off. Note to self and anyone reading: don’t do math in your head sleep deprived. My plan was to get back to the hospital by 7 AM because I knew doctors liked to do their rounds early. I wanted to be there when the doctor stopped by. Although the hospital was less than 30 minutes from the house, I completely miscalculated just how slow as molasses my motor functions were going to be after the wild day it had been. It was hard to believe that the call to 911, the ambulance, the diagnosis, and the surgery all happened in the span of 24 hours. It felt like a lifetime had passed. My brain was moving as slow as my body was.

I started putting things into an overnight bag for hubby. There were a list of items he asked me to grab for him, which I took as a good sign since he was thinking toward the future and not focused on what was right in front of him. I texted him to let him know I was on my way and would be there soon.

I decided to call Mumma while en route so I could give her a phone update. Apparently in my current state, I could no longer walk and chew gum at the same time ‘cause I got lost on the way to the hospital, despite the Apple Maps telling me exactly where to go. Then it turned into this comical, you just missed your turn three turns ago and my fourteen-minute ride took well over half an hour. I was too through.

Finally, I pulled up to the valet, did the same song and dance as the day before (without the side of tears), then headed upstairs. I was already regretting that I didn’t have coffee. I was cutting it way too close and it was going to take way too much time to fix it just the way I liked it. I took the elevator upstairs to the ICU, buzzed to be let in, then headed to hubby’s room. On my way there, I said “good morning” or smiled to anyone in my line of sight. Yes, because it’s the right thing to do and yes, because at any point, the staff I was running into could be the ones taking care of my husband and being polite goes a long way—I promise. No, not all care staff, but A LOT, and this is said as a person who worked in a hospital for a decade, so please don’t at me on this.

Anywho, I finally made it to his room and got there just in time to see him get his blood drawn and his vitals.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

“Hey. You got here fast.”

“Well, it’s not that far away.”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot.”

“Did the doctor come by already?”

“Yeah. Well, not the surgeon, but someone from his staff came by.”

“Damn. I was hoping to be here when they did.”

“Yeah, they came by really early. Sorry, sweetie.”

“Eh, not your fault. Hopefully, they’ll be by a little later.”

“Good morning! And who’s this lovely young lady?”

Boy, I wish I were as young as she was jokingly stating me to be.

“Good morning. I’m his wife.”

“Very nice to meet you. I’m Rachel. I’m going to be his nurse today.”

“Nice to meet you also.”

“I just need to take some blood and take his vitals.”

“No problem at all. Actually, I need to get some coffee anyway. Where’s the cafeteria and how do I get there?”

“I’ll do you one better: we have a Starbucks right on the main floor.”

Now it was my turn for my eyes to light up like Christmas trees.

“Oh my God, bless you.”

That made her giggle.

“If you have the app, you can put your order in on the phone then go pick it up when it’s ready.”

“That’s a genius idea. I’ll definitely do that for next time. I’ll just walk down there for now and stretch my legs while you finish up. Thanks so much for the tip!”

“Of course and sounds good!”

I wasn’t fully expecting it to be a full Starbucks, but it was. Had all my favorites and then some. It had been a hot, hot minute since I had gone there though, so I made the rookie mistake of ordering not enough espresso with my venti caramel macchiato. Hubby had gotten me an espresso machine for Christmas, and I had fully become one of those people: a coffee snob—nay, an espresso snob. So, my fave way to fix my coffee was with a cup of oat milk, a splash of agave, and four to six shots of espresso, depending on the day. If you like your coffee creamy with a mild sweet flavor, five out of five stars and highly recommend. I almost gagged when I took a sip once I was back upstairs. I didn’t remember it being so doggone sweet. Then I remembered my order was missing the “quad” in front of the venti. So yeah, rookie mistake to not check my past orders, but oh well. Oh, and yes, if you’re wondering, I did go back downstairs and get the missing shots of espresso and yes, it was totally worth it.

Looking at hubby, I could see he sounded better, but I knew better than to think he would be going home that day. But we did get some stellar news from the nurse as she was wrapping up when I got back.

“The doctor thinks he can be downgraded to a lower floor today. Once he writes he order, I’ll start the transfer process to the lower floor.”

Hallelu.

“That’s fantastic news!”

If he was stable enough to go to a non-ICU floor, chances were looking mighty fine that he could go home tomorrow. I was cautiously optimistic but tried to taper my expectations.

“Do you all need anything? Some water?”

“Sure, that’d be great, thank you.”

She brought us his and hers pink pitchers and straws, which was thoughtful. I was just thinking water for him.

“Thank you so very much.”

“Of course! Let me know if you need anything else and I’ll get his transfer paperwork started as soon as the order comes in.”

“Sounds good. Thank you again.”

“No problem.”

I gave hubby a big grin.

“This is good, right?” he asked.

“Babe, this is great. Maybe you can be home tomorrow. And I can stop sleeping with all the lights on.”

“You kept all of them on?”

“All of them.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“I’m so glad to be getting out of ICU, but I am gonna miss this.”

By “this” he meant the private room. ICU patients were seldom bunked together and the care was almost always 1:1. That is because patients in intensive care typically require around-the-clock care, so having a nurse care for multiple ICU patients is not just a heavy burden in terms of workload, but it can be dangerous for the patients under her care. The recommended maximum for safety is two patients per nurse.

“Yeah, that part was really nice. Maybe you’ll get lucky, and you’ll be in a single room.”

“Doubtful.”

“Well, one can hope.”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna get my hopes up so I’m not disappointed.”

“Fair enough.”

My husband, the realist. His motto has always been, “hope for the best, expect the worst.” Now, don’t get me wrong. He is not a pessimist nor someone who always believes the sky is falling. He is just very pragmatic when it comes to life. It works well since I’m usually the one belting “High Hopes” at the top of my lungs, diving in headfirst and asking questions later. I’m also the one ready to do some impromptu getaway while he is more practical and wants to think things through before he’s got his mind set. We balance each other out that way and no one is more grateful than me. If both of us had my mindset, we’d be in for a world of trouble and more than one harebrained decision.

Though lately, life had been doing a damn fine job of chipping away at the spontaneous risk taker, “hope haver” side of me. And the present situation included really wasn’t doing me any favors.