‘Can do’ attitude helps on long days

5 AM: Up with the birds. Apparently my decaffeinated beverage last night had enough caffeine to keep me awake until 4; it was a sleepless night. Since re-starting chemo, my senses are on high alert. At least the ride to Allegheny General Hospital is only 17 minutes from our family’s home in Pittsburgh.

6 AM; I expected a quiet, empty waiting room. The one we’re directed to at Allegheny General is anything but. Too many people, conversations, televisions … Be my quiet center, Lord.

7:30 AM: For once I’m not the patient. Tara and I are called to where Jim’s been prepped for his procedure. He’s chatting with a nurse who welcomes us like a family friend. Jim’s stretched on a gurney, awaiting an ablation through his blood vessels to steady his heartbeat, which sometimes flies into A-fib.

He’s a little nervous about this, Lord. I am, too.

Jim’s dad underwent heart surgery at AGH in the 80s. Afterward, Pop hiked an Arizona mountain and mixed cement for our stone chimney…

May Jim have as good an outcome!

8 AM: Mark, another nurse, escorts us to the fourth floor and tells us the first time they did this procedure it took 12-plus hours. Now it takes two to four.

I notice his cross and recall visiting Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis with a sick friend; at 9 AM the Lord’s Prayer was broadcast over that hospital’s speaker system.

Do they still do that? I hope so.

Our Father, Who art in Heaven…

We kiss Jim good-bye. He smiles faintly. Tara and I watch Mark push the gurney down the hall, then find a pleasant, almost empty waiting room. The television is on, of course. As if we fear silence.

Maybe we do.

An arched bridge in a Monet-style painting invites me to enter a garden of calm. Whoever chose this piece knew people might need it. People like me.

I’m nauseated. Should have skipped that chocolate pizzelle for breakfast! In search of the cafeteria (and saltines), I attempt to take an “intelligent” elevator, lacking numbers. Eventually I get there, find crackers and hurry back to the fourth floor.

9 AM: Jim’s surgeon appears. “Nothing’s wrong,” he assures us – they were slowed finding an artery to monitor arterial pressure, but that was resolved.

Thy will be done, Lord, on earth exactly as it is in Heaven.

Ever notice Heaven occurs twice in the Lord’s Prayer?

Bring a touch of Heaven to this place – this city – today, Father.

Tara mentions Psalm 107. I open the small Bible I stashed in a bag at the last minute and read my scribble beside it, “A psalm of rescue.”

It starts with “Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, His love endures forever.”

I give thanks for warm prayer socks in this frigid place. They bear Rosie the Riveter’s colorful image, icon of strong women, a gift from a thoughtful friend. One of those strong women was Jim’s Grandma Woodard, who worked in an aircraft factory during WW II, helping America beat the Nazis. She said she went into that factory in her 40s with dark hair and came out with white — her son was serving in the Pacific during those long years.

The slogan of thousands of Rosies working in factories like GG was, “We can do it!” Jim was born on her birthday and she gifted him with her “can do” attitude.

A year before my initial encounter with cancer I underlined verses in Psalm 107:

“He stilled the storm to a whisper,

the waves of the sea were hushed.

They were glad which it grew calm

and He guided them to their desired haven….” (107:29-31, NIV)

Cuddled in faith and a fleece jacket, I’m grateful His Spirit guided me this morning to dwell on this passage.

10:05 AM: I walk outside, crossing a four-lane street to shady Allegheny Commons Park and pass three people on a bench, in prayer. A water fountain’s spray sparkles in the morning light. Strangers direct me to the Carnegie Library. More things for my gratitude list.

Rounding a corner, I follow a line of pre-schoolers and hear one say he’s going to the “liberry.” Me, too. I can’t wait to tell Jim I signed up for a library card, giving me access to 46 libraries in Allegheny County.

11:05 AM: Long elevator lines form in the hospital lobby; none come. I huff and puff up the stairwell to the fourth floor. Tara says I just missed the surgeon. He reported Jim is in recovery following a successful procedure. I relax into the good news.

1:30 PM: We finally see Jim, hooked to monitors, doing well. Looking at him I know, life is full of small miracles.

3:20 PM: We’re allowed to leave; soon grandchildren greet us with the best hugs ever.

5:30 PM: Home in Indiana. Thankful we can do all things with faith and a little help from a lot of people.

All will be well.

Texting Thru Recovery/ Indiana Gazette