Lost Parents

Fifteen minutes evaporated and the nurse who was tending to Kendra reminded me it was time to leave the room. I would be able to see her later that evening. I walked over to the wash basin and removed my mask, then my gown, and lastly peeled my gloves off backwards dropping them all in the hazardous waste bin. I washed my hands, noticing the hot water was extremely hot. I made a mental note to turn on the cold water next time before I turned on the hot water. The pressure door slid open. I turned left and walked through a short hallway out to the waiting area where Shirley waited. In a while, Ed came out and we decided to get something to eat.
We ventured out to look for a place to eat in the UAB hospital complex. People walked briskly. Most of them were employees, not always recognizable by their dress. This was a teaching facility, a research facility, an intensive care facility along with an entire children’s hospital and buildings upon buildings of specializations. Signs at one intersection pointed to a cafeteria. Off we went walking and walking, then entered an elevator to another floor where we exited and began walking up a slight incline into the cafeteria. We were tired, stressed, exhausted and the food was warm and in some cases warmed over, but it didn’t matter. We ate quietly, the way we would eat often because there was only one subject on our minds and we didn’t know what to say to each other.
We had to come to Birmingham so quickly that we didn’t have any idea what to bring or where to stay. We only wanted to get to Kendra as soon as we could. We slept in the waiting area that night and for close to a week after that. We became adept at putting chairs together so that we could stretch out. We learned from others who had been there longer than us how to acquire a blanket and pillow. We worked on taking turns going to see Kendra while one or two of us went to eat or get food for the others.
During those first days from November 13 to November 15, we waited for Kendra to improve to a point that we could see her awake and she could hear our voices. Each day we took turns in her room. As her vitals began to rally, we were allowed to stay as long as we wanted as long as one of us would leave occasionally so that there were only two of us in the room. Our stay in the isolation room separated us from the other patients. We lived in a world looking out on another world where patients were lined in beds from one end of the room to the other. Family and friends visited and stayed, some longer than others. I could not hear anything said, but faces and body language told me to some degree how each person was mending or not recovering. Behind me out the large window, leaves continued to fall from the trees, turning a pale orange or yellow. Leaves cartwheeled off the grass and onto the avenue gathering in dark groups. Suddenly the leaves lifted in a unified flight down the road and eventually out of sight.
Night was difficult. The lights on the unit sank into an artificial sunset darkening everything outside our glassed wall. The sound of Kendra’s respirator beat out a hissing measured rhythm, pressing air into her lungs and recovering to press more air on the next beat. Her PCA pumps all quietly clicked out a measured cadence, one slightly different from the other. When the measured medication was exhausted, the pump sounded like a clock being wound and an alarm sounded to let the nurse know that it was time to secure the line and either lock the line or add more medication. The only thing that broke the maddening order of the pumps and machines was the quiet music we might have playing on the television. We all liked music and even if Kendra was too far away in her own mind and place we hoped she could hear the music. She loved music. God had blessed her with a beautiful voice and the resolve to refine her talent so that others could enjoy it.