The Waiting

I wake without good reason in mid afternoon after only about 3 hours sleep. I am fully awake and don't even feel the usual Bendadryl Hangover I should have this early into my sleep. I text everyone I think might be at the hospital with Mom without response. I answer a few work emails, can't get back to sleep, so I shower and call the hospital in my hometown. Mom transferred to my hospital only about 10 min ago. We have equipment to do a procedure not available back home. I get my body and face around, and head to my workplace, once again grateful for the short distance from my driveway to the parking lot. The timing is impeccable. I reach my ER entrance exactly as the ambulance transporting Mom does. She is smiling and making little jokes. Her laugh infectious as always. The heavy doses of narcotics help a little. 

We go to room 416, and things go well. They move more quickly than I'd expected. I'm proud of my colleagues as I quietly observe them. I really don't know how they meet all the demands placed on them and still provide such a caring touch. 

One of my favorite doctors is admitting her. He does an excellent history and exam, and makes sure we understand the plan. I'm proud of Mom for being an excellent historian of her case. It makes me feel reassured and confident that things will go well even when I'm downstairs being a nurse myself later in the evening. But right now I'm not a Nurse. In this moment I am a Daughter, and Dr. Giant Smiles is reviewing the results of Mom's CT scan with us. This mass at the head of her pancreas, he says, is obviously concerning. Does she have any family history of tumors, he wonders. Outwardly I am nodding and stoic. This Daughter's insides are screaming. We didn't know there was a mass. We are just finding out, though I don't bat an eye. He is finding out that my Mom's father died of pancreatic cancer. Very concerning, especially given that information, he adds. 

Yes, Dr. Big Smiles. Very concerning. 

After he walks out, I cry. Then I cut it out, and remind us both that nothing is close to definitive. I am just a surprised Daughter who happens to be a Nurse sometimes. This can be a harrowing position on occasion, the knowing too much. 

First we have to get her thin blood back to a safe level to perform the procedure. Then the procedure will tell the specialist more. Then more waiting for the biopsies. 

Now, on 3 hours sleep in the past 36, I am in the waiting part.

I am home from too many hours in a hospital I love too much, filled with people who need my love so much. 

Now I switch from Nurse back to Daughter. And wait and pray and let myself cry since there is no one to see it. The crying will lead to sleeping. And when I wake there will be more waiting. And more Daughtering. And yet more Nursing. Because we do what we can during all the waiting. 

How I fought...without knowing what I was fighting for

It was my second semester of college. I was raw. My grandmother, who had lived with me from age 4 had passed on my brother's birthday, during winter break, the day after Christmas.

I craved connection. I craved home.

I had met Sam my first semester of college. He was my friend. We had people in common. Most importantly, people from my "real life". 

My people were important to me. My people were me. 

And the fact that he was connected to folks from my small community meant *everything*. 

We connected over these similarities. 

I do that with people. 

I am a sucker for nostalgia. 

One night, he did several lines of cocaine at a neighbor's house. He assaulted me a bit after. 

I didn't want to see him after that. 

That was smart of me. 

Unfortunately, he still wanted to engage with me. Because of his violence toward me, I had been avoiding him, despite his calls. 

I was summoned by mutual friends to help out with him in a time of distress, not a week later. 

I don't know why I agreed. 

It was not smart of me. 

When I arrived at the house, I was pointed to the room he was in. I'm still not sure why I approached, much less entered. He had said that he would speak only to me. 

I wanted to fix everything. 

I should have alerted law enforcement. 

I should never have gone there. 

But I was there. 

And I stepped into that room. And that was where I was. So, I dealt with it. 

I dealt with the fact that he had a loaded gun. 

I dealt with the fact that he wanted to end me or end him. 

I just talked to him. 

I talked to him about his family, and our mutual friends. 

I talked about things I knew he valued. 

I spoke to him of the things I sought and valued in my future. 

And, in time, he agreed to seek help from someone he trusted just enough. 

And we contacted that person via phone. And I went back to my dorm life. 

I never had contact with him again. 

I wish I could say that someone in that house had called the police while I navigated all this. 

But no one did. 

Perhaps they were as green as I was back then. 

Or perhaps they didn't care?

I never took legal action...for any of it. The previous assault, or the more resonating gun-to-my-head interaction. 

I was a kid. 

We all were kids. 

It is interesting, and sad, and devastating.

And confusing. 

And still, to this day, I hope he's okay. 

Still. 

I'm a sucker. 

And I believe that I'm okay. 

I-69 to I-65 to I-40...

...Or some route like that. 

Recently a coworker asked if I'd ever been to Memphis. 

I have been. I took a road trip alone when I was young. 

My fiancé at the time thought it was ludicrous. I thought it was wholly necessary. 

(This could, in fact, be the entire premise on which our proposed nuptials failed. The guy did not get me. Not for a moment.)

I wore a bandana on my head, and long, comfortable, flowy skirts. 

I stopped through Nashville for some reason, and changed clothes in a parking garage. That was my entire virgin Nashville experience...changing outfits in a parking garage!

I listened to whatever music I wanted. I talked to the truckers with my headlights. 

Once I got to Memphis, I was disappointed by: Sun Studios, and Saint Jude's Children's Research Hospital. I didn't even go into Graceland. 

However, I did recommend all these stops to my coworker. She will plan tours ahead. I believe if I'd done that, I'd have gotten a different outcome. 

But I planned nothing for my venture. Which is the key point of this tale. 

The entire thing was fully spontaneous. 

Which is why the events I remember most vividly were the most random. 

Near Sun Studios was a diner. They had eggs and toast. A couple of old guys with motorcycles were there while I got my grub. These guys told me *they* could show me the real Memphis. 

Of course they could, why not??  I knew tons of grizzly old dudes that rode Harleys. Most of them were my relatives. 

So, I went for it. 

It was perfect. 

I got the Graceland "tour" from outside the fence, no money paid. 

I got an awesome ride. I got tons of tips about local restaurants and points of interest. 

They told me about the best of Beale Street; where to stop, where to pass by. 

Perhaps I could have been assaulted, or abducted, or worse?  

Perhaps...but I wasn't. 

I would never do that now. But then?  Then it was perfect. And perfectly fine. 

There was a purity then. One that will never be recreated. 

And that's okay, as well. 

But I'm glad, more than glad, that I did that route, that way, that one time.