Russ was one of two musicians playing in the Bing Concert Series at Stanford Hospital this afternoon. A good excuse to go back to visit. I got there a little early.
He’d been my hospitalist six years ago when he was very new in the job, and again in January and February. He’d seen me very, very ill, twice. He’d never seen me well. It totally made his day.
Then a few minutes later, after Dr. D left, again, two doctors were walking by, coming from the other direction this time and towards the stairs, and I recognized one of them. My face lit up and I did a small wave hi as he glanced towards me.
And then I laughed to my friend Mary sitting there as he glanced back away, “He doesn’t recognize me when I’m healthy!” At that, hearing my voice, Dr. C suddenly got it. He, too, stopped, left the other doctor, came over, and wanted to know how I was doing and wanted to exclaim over how well I looked. “You had that surgery, didn’t you?” Well, yes. He was one of the ones who’d listened to me saying I wanted to give the Humira time to work, that I was so sure it would. Well, hey. It didn’t. And look at me now.
Waiting for Russ, the violinist came over to me and said, “You look familiar.” It took me a moment, so it wasn’t till after the concert was over that I got a chance to say to him, simply, “Marguerite’s celebration of life.”
“THAT’S it!”
And all of ours too that day, I thought. All of ours too.
Then it was time to go try to visit my nurses. They either weren’t on duty today, or I just didn’t find them. At one nurse’s station, the woman there looked me up one side and then deliberately down the other and pronounced that no, she could not tell me what day P might be on duty for me to come back to say hi.
Well, that was interesting. I could just imagine P’s reaction to that.
Then, since I’d been a patient in three different departments, I tried the next one. I had much better luck there; while I was asking, the charge nurse, who’d never had direct care of me while I was in, nevertheless recognized me, came up behind me and said, “I know you!” And to the woman at the nurse’s station, “This lady wrote a book! She knits all these lovely things!” (I was wearing a Constance shawl, tied in front.)
Which is how she got first choice of ten lace scarves, only, not the bright green, it was promised to P. She took the Casbah dark teal in great delight; “For ME?!” You betcha. I wasn’t going to tell her that the lady downstairs kind of sealed it for her: you’re glad I’m here, I’m glad I have something that it turns out I’d knit just for you. Thank you for making my day and remembering me. Good for you.
She told me where to find C, the one nurse I already knitted for while I was still in the hospital. C was with a patient; I waited at the station awhile, then went over and stood outside the patient’s room, telling myself I didn’t want to get in the way while getting more in the way.
C glanced out the door. She saw me. She did a doubletake as I smiled a yes, you! at her. Her eyes got big and she came out and we threw our arms around each other.
I almost said, Wait. You’re supposed to be about a foot taller. I was always looking way up at you! We were both laughing for sheer joy.
She said it was so wonderful when patients come back to say hi. I imagine so: it validates everything she, as a nurse, goes through day by day. It would remind someone working in the blood, sweat, and tears of a hospital why they do what they do.
To make people well again. To help them become whole.
It was good to be back.