GUEST BLOG ENTRY January 8, 2017
Another Whack-A-Mole

Ralph has generously yielded this space to me since he has been a bit indisposed this week…to say the least. A sudden pesky little bout of kidney failure has him sitting in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of his neck, wiggling to get comfortable around the injection site from his kidney biopsy. The tubes lead to a port for temporary dialysis. And temporary is the word on which we are focusing, just as we latch onto every bit of hope in the words of each doctor who stands at the end of Ralph’s bed: reversal, healing, letting the kidneys rest, you get the idea. Ralph has the supreme challenge of enduring each assault on his body with grace and humor; most of the time he meets that challenge spectacularly. I loved the way he and the guy pushing his gurney, James, alternated lines from The Four Tops, singing their way down the hall toward the surgery where Ralph would have his biopsy. I love the way he scrawled a message on the whiteboard under the heading, TODAY’S GOAL: Olympic gold medal, synchronized swimming. While this revelry is occurring, I am waiting and worrying and thinking about all kinds of things like when I’ll ever take down the Christmas decorations or how long my Blue Apron ingredients will last. But mostly I am thinking about courage, the quiet courage I witness all around me in this surreal world called “the hospital.”
With apologies to one of my favorite holiday movies, courage is all around you. Consider:
The tone of voice of the nurse in the adjoining room as she soothes a frightened woman who is in pain and confused by surroundings so different from her nursing home;
The gentle touch of the nursing assistant who takes Ralph’s blood while chatting lightly about nothing…or everything;
The steady hand of the surgeon as she inserts a needle into delicate kidney tissue to extract a sample;
The pride of the cleaner who scoops up soiled linen and leaves the room spotless so that Ralph returns from dialysis to a neatly made bed and welcoming pillows;
The patience of a busy doctor who cautiously delivers frightening news and then smiles softly, touching my arm because he is able to be more positive in his diagnosis;
The strength of the transport “driver” who uses his powerful muscles to support a shaky Ralph and guide him carefully back to bed;
The blank stare on the face of a woman in a waiting room as she gazes at a television screen and waits and continues to wait;
The pain behind Ralph’s stoic expression as I re-enter the room after a team has just inserted the temporary port in his neck.
Courage and compassion and sheer stubborn determination are everywhere in this hospital. I am in awe, and I am grateful. Ralph has had a traumatic experience, a sudden kidney failure that test results indicate is reversible. With several weeks of dialysis, his kidneys should now begin healing, but we are both humbled as we ponder what could have happened, and what in fact does happen to many brave families every day. So hug somebody and congratulate yourself on your own courage for facing life’s risks one scary day at a time.