People Watching in the Waiting Room

One thing that ties people together is time spent in a doctor's waiting room. The setting is familiar no matter what kind of doctor. There are the stiff, upright chairs, bright overhead lights, people behind glass panes, and often, an elevator that dings in the background.

Attendants in scrubs call out patient names while each new arrival is questioned about birthdate, insurance and changes since the last visit. They're told to take a seat and wait.

Last week's journey took me to the Eye Institute Surgical Center where folks of a certain age gathered, hopeful for improvement in their eyesight. Arrival time was nine am with instructions to be upstairs by that time after a night of fasting and no coffee or liquids of any kind. Most sat stiffly, bringing along a solid case of anxiety. To have someone cut on your eyes is scary. A couple of dozen other people and I waited to hear our names with little to do besides fidget and observe.

My driver and I chose seats in a tight corner across from a trio of women, two staring at their phones while a third sat, stony-faced, waiting her turn. Once she'd been called to the back, her companions left in search of food. They were replaced by a man who sought a chair to fit his linebacker girth. The tiny chairs were no match and as he lowered himself into it, the chair emitted a painful squeal.

It was a good time to study traffic patterns from the 4th story view of Central Expressway, busy any time, day or night. Cars sped by, coming and going to important places, their occupants unaware of our room full of tense, clean-scrubbed, lotion-less patients praying for a miracle.

Names were called to come to the room where forms were to be signed absolving the facility of responsibility for injury or death at their hand. A photo was taken to confirm our identity and add to our permanent record. Time ticked by at a snail's pace.

We maintained social distances, adorned with itchy face masks enhancing our discomfort. It was impossible not to stare as one frail woman dozed off in her wheelchair, bent forward, head down, those nearby praying she didn't nose-dive off onto the spotless tile floor. She woke with a start, and in near-blindness, demanded to know her whereabouts. Her son had "dropped me off here without a word." His booming voice, like a beacon in the cold silence echoed from the tiny registration room where her wheelchair wouldn't fit.

Finally, around 11:00 am, my name was called and I trudged back to the frigid pre-op room, changed into a gown and hair net, was hooked up to an IV and oxygen and drifted off into the land of the oblivious. Thirty minutes later I was in the post-op area drinking apple juice and waiting for my ride home; home sweet home. The cataract surgery was a success and now I await scheduling for the other eye.

People from the 1880s - CD and Eula

When I was barely a teen, I met a couple at church who were in their 80s. C.D. and Eula Walker. I was enamored by their old fashioned way of talking, their infallible courtesy, their acceptance of our family as their own.

They had an after-church gathering at their house one Sunday and I was fascinated by the way the food was presented in fancy dishes and served buffet style from a sideboard. I remember someone asking Mrs. Walker where her husband had gotten off to. 

"He's probably at the buffet building sideboards on his plate," she answered. I wasn't sure what that meant so my dad later explained it was like having a wagon with wood rails along the side so you could pile things higher. 

We sat in their parlor on red velveteen couches with carved legs and arms. Crystal chandeliers twinkled in the dim lighting of the room as we ate our food and communed with one another.

Their house was filled with family heirlooms that looked to be from the "roaring 20s" and treasures from their travels abroad. Things they had collected mid-life when they were around 40. Mr. Walker took us on a tour of his garage where, hanging on the wall was a helmet from World War I and other mementos of days gone by. They would have been born in the 1800s around the same time as my own grandparents who lived out of state and we saw rarely. The Walkers had no children so they adopted us as a surrogate family.

I had foolishly worn my watch out to play and the band broke off. C.D. repaired it so that I could wear it like a pin attaching it to a gold Fleur de Lis broach. He presented it to me as a gift one Sunday at church. Having lived through the Great Depression, they learned to repurpose and reuse everything. Nothing was wasted.

How I wish I had thought to ask them about their lives, their travels, their experiences before it was too late.

Part of the Gang

If I ever felt like I belonged it would have been during the days we camped at the F.O. Ranch. We could do whatever we wanted at the moment, whether it was to seek solitude, read, explore or sit by the campfire. If we wanted to have a wine cooler for breakfast, no one judged. No one was offended. There were no outcasts.

We came from different walks of life, whether college student, teacher, scientist, maintenance worker or hair stylist, when we were together, we had harmony and acceptance. We knew how to appreciate freedom from structure. Each person was accepted as is, flaws and all.

Ron cooking breakfast over the campfire.

I often wonder what became of these friends from my young adulthood. Where are they now? What are they doing? Would they remember or even recognize me all these years later?

What has changed? What limits the openness I once shared with these folks who became friends because we lived near one another? Our apartments shared a communal porch where we would hang out between camping trips, planning and counting the days until our next gathering at the campsite.

The campsite, owned by the parents of one of the campers, had an ancient, one-room cabin with a small kitchen where we kept the food. No refrigerator, just a collection of ice chests to keep the perishables and the drinks. In the tiny bedroom was a toilet, partially exposed behind a half wall. Campers were welcome to use it during the day, provided they brought a bucket of water for flushing purposes. There was no running water, just a hand pump outside.

But we made it work.

 Cindy with Snowball and Precious at the Old Cabin

The campfire was kept burning all hours of the day, replenished through treks in the woods to gather deadwood as we explored our surroundings. During one of those treks, we discovered a sinkhole that must have been fifty-feet deep.

By now, a subdivision of tract homes has likely replaced our old stomping grounds.

Yet the lake must surely remain, in all its glory and seclusion, the water on which many of us learned to ski, took our baths, fished and sat together on the creaky and rickety dock. How can so many years have passed and I still fondly recall the sights and smells of those times?

Me and Marsha on the Dock

There were few distractions. There were no cell phones. No i Pods, no laptops or tablets. We had a collection of paperback books which we read by firelight or lantern if the night grew quiet. Otherwise, we circled the campfire and told stories or sang when anyone who could play brought their guitar. No one cared if we forgot the words or missed a note.

How I long for those days that always passed too quickly, before Sunday night came and we gathered the tents, loaded up the small boat with equipment before hooking it to the trailer and heading back to the real world where Monday awaited and our daily work stood ready to greet us the next day.

The Triple FO

Sunburn and bug bites aside, those were some of the best days of my life. And not just for me. Romances bloomed, couples grew together and apart. The saga of life played out with each adventure. Like the time I showed up unexpectedly to find someone else in my boyfriend's tent. That was a night to remember.

From  Memoirs and Other Tall Tales © Peggy Cole

Father's Day 2019

On Father's day I fondly recall the many things my dad taught his three children like how to catch fish, the value of hard work and the joy of learning to do things ourselves. He was big on discipline like postponing gratification and held up the importance of an enduring faith. As a Sunday School Teacher he brought the Bible to life with his well-prepared lessons.

It was during the early sixties he seated a person in the front rows at our church, someone who by policy was only allowed to sit at the back of the congregation. Dad disregarded tradition one Sunday morning when he served as an usher and for a time, we were not welcome at that church. He carried on anyway, teaching the Bible in our living room every Sunday morning until that preacher left for another church in the Deep South. Times were different back then.

The Only Church in Town

Dad was a great story teller and shared many of the stories about his own father who was born in 1880, who raised six children as a single parent while working on the railroad as a mail-carrier and who later worked as a sharecropper.

Stern and strict at times, Dad believed that "sparing the rod" spoiled the child. But he also could be funny and witty. He was a good singer and liked to play the guitar and sing, "You are My Sunshine" and "Red River Valley."

He had a great smile and an enduring love for animals. He taught us that all life was valuable. I'm grateful that he stuck around to raise us after a trial separation before I was born. My older sister and brother were small children when Mom moved back home to Grandmother's house in Texas. He followed his own father's advice and did the right thing staying around to see the children he brought into the world all graduate high school and leave home before he and Mom parted ways.

He's been gone from this world since 2005 but I will always remember him fondly and often replay in my head that last time he told me, "I love you, my darling."

Easy Crock Pot Pork Roast

Looking for an economical, easy, delicious way to feed the family? This meal cooks while you're doing other things and can be served many ways.

It's easy to prepare pulled pork roast for sandwiches or burritos. Slice off a 1 - 1 1/2 inch portion of the cooked roast and use two forks to shred the meat. Serve with shredded cheese, sour cream, diced tomatoes on a warmed tortilla or sandwich bun.


Choose a nice, lean sirloin tip pork roast like the ones from Costco priced about $16.00 for a 4-pack. Each roast makes a nice family meal for around $4.00. Use one fresh and freeze the other three for future meals. Add some rice, corn, potato or a salad and you've got a hearty meal.

Instructions:
Season the outside of the roast with garlic salt, paprika, black pepper or any dry rub or spices you like. Lightly brown the outside edges of the roast in a heated frying pan with some olive oil and minced garlic.

Brown the outside edges to seal in the flavor.

It only takes about a minute to brown the top and a minute on the bottom.

Use kitchen tongs to brown the sides and ends of the roast to seal in the flavors.

Use tongs to hold the roast and brown the edges.

Transfer the browned roast into the crock pot. Turn it on High. Add about 1/2 cup of water to the frying pan to make a seasoned liquid and pour it over the roast in the Crock Pot.

Cover and cook the roast on High for 5 to 6 hours. During the last hour reduce the heat to Low. Or cook the roast on Low for 7 to 8 hours while you're away.

Pulled pork burritos are a big hit with our family. Other times, this entree goes well with corn on the cob and a salad.

Pulled Pork Burrito with Corn on the Cob

Served on sandwich buns it makes a delicious barbecue pork sandwich. Or use cubed chunks of leftover pork roast to make pork fried rice. Easy, economical, and delicious, this meal will delight your family and fill your hearty appetite with very little effort.

The Carriage Driver 2 - Book Review

This imaginative collection of short stories offers the reader a hopeful glimpse into the transition after death. Mike Friedman, creator of the Emerald Wells Café series, The Quinn Moosebroker Mysteries and Braids - Angel’s Field is an award-winning fiction writer and artist.

The Carriage Driver² is the second release in a collection of stories about the afterlife. Rich in detail and empathy, the characters include a variety of people, some who’ve experienced a continuous struggle for survival and others who seem to have had it all.

Their next journey after they meet their inevitable fate begins with a ride in a beautiful horse-drawn carriage pulled by a white steed. Once their name appears in the book, the dearly departed are asked to decide on a destination where they wish to go. During the ride, questions are asked and answered, options are offered and life begins anew with an infinite number of possibilities based on their tastes, talents and deepest desires.

Knocking on Heaven's Door

The Weathervane is a favorite from this collection in which an elderly woman is living in a rest home when she begins her journey after a few brief moments to decide where she wants to begin spending eternity.

As she steps out of the carriage, she’s transformed into the younger self that has resided for years only within her memories. She finds herself wearing a favorite floral print summer dress, standing on a beach with swaying palms, warm tropical breezes and the familiar cries of drifting sea gulls. There she reunites with and is wrapped in the loving arms of her long since dearly departed husband where, once again, they share a world of their former happiness. It’s a story that gives the surviving family hope that their loved one spends future days in true care-free bliss.

The Gutter Boy's main character, Dylan finds that life isn’t always filled with abuse and disrespect after he meets two kind doctors, a husband and wife team. He discovers that his time to move into the next world has not yet arrived, experiencing only a change in his circumstance through which he’s destined to lead a richer way of life and repay his debt with future acts of kindness.

Many other stories are included in the collection with each story offering subtle clues about life lessons. Each character has a chance to interact with Captain Griffin Chaffey, a veteran of the War Between the States who, after losing his own life, remained in the battlefield to help others find their way onward. He accepts his assignments cheerfully accompanied by Nuelle, a white horse whose intuition and spirit shines throughout as she munches on shared apples and trots to their destinations. Sometimes, she enjoys a romp in the surf as part of her reward for a job well done. Other times, she must face the uncertainties of strange and frightening places where darkness and despair lurk.

The Man Unseen introduces a young man whose difficulties began early in life. The victim of school chums who taunted and took advantage of the special needs child, his troubles are multiplied when his mother passes away and he's cheated out of his rightful home. He lives out his remaining days on the street in constant peril, yet his wisdom shines when he shares his observations with Captain Chaney.

"There ought to be rules for men to live by," he remarks. It comes as no surprise that he chooses an afterlife of spreading generosity toward others who suffer as he once did.

In Sister Sarah's Miracle we meet Sister Sarah, an empathetic and generous worker of miracles whose hands-on ministry is directed toward the less fortunate. In the story, she visits a young girl, a cancer victim who resides in Mass General Hospital.

Sister Sarah gives of herself to the point of depleting her supply of healing power. When she meets Captain Griffin, her strength returns and she is able to continue her valuable work on this earth. Fortunately, The Carriage Driver and Nuelle know how to keep a secret.

Nuelle and the captain operate their carriage out of Boston, but the reader is assured that across all cities, towns, boroughs and villages, others carry on the same legacy driving the recently deceased to their choice destination where they begin the next life. Or, if they choose to wait for a spouse, a child or a loved one, “there is a castle in the sky whose spires puncture Heaven to accommodate them.”

These heartwarming tales lend to second and third readings with revisits inspired by the depth of the subtleties of deeper meaning within. Great for late-night reading when the troubles of the world interrupt the peace and quiet of sleep, these stories restore a sense of calm in a world of turmoil.

As a bonus, the book contains a short stand-alone story titled, “Walking to Goleta,” a tale of companionship, compassion, generosity, ingenuity, and a heartwarming miracle in a Christmas setting.

The Carriage Driver is your liaison to the heaven of your own choosing.” Don’t be fooled by the free ride. Those who climb on board have paid in advance.”

Cruise Ship Fun

There were a number of reasons I refused to go on a cruise. That was, until last October when I found out about a themed cruise with one of my favorite TV show actors. Now that we're back from our first voyage to Cabo San Lucas, it's certain we'll be taking another one.

There was never a dull moment during our 6 day, 5 night trip. We walked the decks from one end of the ship to the other. Whenever we could, we took the stairs to burn off calories from the delicious meals in the Horizon Court, The Crown Grill - an upscale steakhouse and the Botticelli Dining Room. We visited the casino, Club Fusion for a frozen Margarita, dropped by the International Cafe to try some dreamy chocolate mousse, watched line dancing on the Lido Deck, and Zumba exercise classes at the pool. At the port, we boarded the tender ship to Cabo where we shopped for souvenirs in the quaint Mexican village.

The star of the Investigation Discovery TV Series, Homicide Hunter, Joe Kenda was featured at a number of events where he patiently greeted fans and signed autographs for his book, I Will Find You. For the Kenda Cruiser group, there were question and answer sessions with prizes, an off-shore lunch excursion in Cabo, and other activities aboard the ship.

Another Kenda Cruise is planned for next October from NY to Halifax Canada. Search #KendaCruise and Jim Seeley of VIP Tours Cruises and events on Facebook for details.

Beyond the celebrity events there were fun things to do like watch the theater production, Magic To Do, a delightful live musical. Grease and The Incredibles 2 movies were playing on the big screen under the stars. With all the food and exercise, we found ourselves too exhausted to stay up late enough to attend the disco party and costume party events.

To remain safe from illness, observe safe health standards such as disinfecting often touched objects like door handles, TV remotes, room telephones and bathroom shelves. Doing this provides an excellent chance of remaining healthy while cruising. Packets of disposable wipes and are highly recommended for frequent use as you travel about the ship. Or seek out the Purell dispensers when visiting at the buffet.

The food was amazing, the soft motion of the ship en route was calming, the entertainment and the joy of having cell phones off provided a much-needed break from workplace stress.

We truly came back refreshed and new again. We're already signed up for a future trip! Bon Voyage.

Remembering Paula - 2017

This story is dedicated to my friend of many years, Paula.

Paula and I managed to stay in touch over the years despite living in different states. The calls would get more frequent before our annual week spent together at the beach.

We'd played phone tag for days and I came home to a voice mail from her apologizing for not getting back to me.

When I called her back she told me the worst news possible.

She'd spent ten days in the hospital being poked and run through a battery of tests. They told her the results via an impersonal phone call from her doctor.

Her doctor told her she had Stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

1983 at the Gold Twin Towers in Dallas

Over the years, our lives seemed to run in parallel. Both of us moved from owning our own hair salons to earning our real estate licenses, to later, taking jobs in the corporate world.

We had each become instant stepmothers to five-year old boys through marriage. We shared the heartbreak of those failed relationships and our bankrupt businesses. We also shared the joy of coming back from darkness to better times.

In 1983, during the heyday of the TV show "Dallas" she came to Texas for a short visit. Naturally, we visited Southfork Ranch and the Gold Twin Towers where JR's fictional office was.

September of1988 we spent our first week together at her timeshare on the beach. We shopped at Publix for the week's groceries, cooked on the outdoor grills and enjoyed spectacular views of the sunset, before staying up all night laughing and watching old movies.

1996 North Reddington Shores, Florida

Every year, we'd spend 7 days walking the beach, baking in the sun and swimming in the pool. We'd pack up with sadness at the end of the week and drive back to her house spending our last night together watching reruns of Star Trek. We dreaded the early morning flight when she'd drop me off at Tampa Airport. When I called to tell her I was home safe, she'd say she'd cried all the way home. She felt things deeply and wasn't afraid to show her emotions.

We shared numerous meals at the Village Inn Pancake House, Houlihan's, Friday's, Puerta Vallarta and Café Pepe where we ordered paella with sangria and homemade bread. We shopped the thrift stores for stuff to sell in my antique store and we drove around the neighborhood where parrots from Busch Gardens roosted in trees near her house. My old house was only a few blocks from hers and we'd do a drive-by.
During the 90s we'd meet in Orlando at my dad's house to share a family meal. Dad served as the father figure she'd always wanted having been raised by a single mom. We called each other sisters. 

1995 at my Dad's house

When Dad passed away, she made the two-hour drive from Tampa to Le High Acres to be at his funeral and take me home with her. She was a source of comfort and friendship during my grief.

In 2009, she was proud that she finally got into her first pair of size 10 shorts. Not the kind with elastic waist, either. These were the button and zip shorts she'd always dreamed she would wear. She'd finally conquered her life-long battle with weight control.

2008 North Reddington Shores

She'd already been through agonizing pain and a long battle to find a doctor to do hip replacement surgery. She was still in her fifties. Her osteoarthritis had destroyed her hip joint making it nearly impossible to walk. Our shopping trips to favorite places like Donation Station, Goodwill and other thrift stores met less enthusiasm from my friend whose every step radiated pain.

1993 Kongfrontation

In 2015, she underwent spinal surgery, fusing five vertebra and several vertebra in her neck. The symptoms of numbness in her hands, the unexpected falls and other more disturbing side effects lessened. She looked great. I was proud of her resilience and resolve.

Our last beach trip in September 2016, grocery shopping was different than the years prior. Instead of several desserts for the week, we got half a Key Lime Pie. The variety of breads we usually picked out were missing, too. The potato chips, ice cream, cookies, apple strudel and chocolate candy had shrunk to just a couple choices.

I was proud of her restraint and mine as well. I usually went home a few pounds heavier after our vacation. I had no idea that something was going wrong with her digestive tract. Something very wrong.

My friend was in Stage 4 of cancer, too weak to take the chemotherapy which might prolong her life a few months, maybe a couple of years. But she was resilient, still hoping to beat this disease that made her look as she described, "like a skeleton."

I wanted to fly down there immediately but she wanted me to wait until she started chemotherapy. At that point she had stopped eating because of the gastric reactions she'd have after any kind of food.

I'll never forget her words. "Don't think the irony of this disease is lost on me. All my life I've struggled to lose weight and now I'm dying of starvation."

Even to the end, she remained grateful for the small comforts and blessings of life: friends who loved her dearly; two precious dogs whose awareness of her situation was clear in their actions; a mother who never expected to outlive her daughter after her own critical illness the prior year. Paula had spent months helping her mother recover a near fatal infection in 2015.

I treasure my photos from forty years spent with my friend. Her house was always welcoming, warm and casually inviting. I have fond memories of her cockatiel, T.C. Wilson, who talked to the dogs that came and went over the 20 years he lived. We shared mutual losses of beloved canines, felines, birds, relatives and friends over the years.

1995 with Nevy and Chloe

I recall our many talks over cups of coffee in her living room watching out the front window as her neighborhood changed with time. She was a friend who could put you instantly at ease whether watching TV or just hanging out. We could be comfortable reading books, silent for hours. There was no pressure to follow a schedule or do things. We were there for each other.

She was a friend who remembered to call on birthdays, holidays and in-between, always sharing the latest news and listening and sharing the ups and downs of our jobs.

She had an amazing recall of my family, the names of aunts and cousins, stories told over the years. When our roles expanded to caring for our aging mothers and their live-in partners, we often shared the joys and difficulties of being caregivers and about the day we might lose our mothers. We never imagined that one of us would go first.

2016 at the beach

She passed away on July 21st, 2017, just two short months after her diagnosis.

I still reach for the phone to call her, even after these years. I still think of us sharing a cup of coffee in her living room with the dogs, cats and T.C. Wilson.

She loved the Lord and had a strong faith. I hope she's had a chance to meet Him and reunite with her pets that have crossed over: Chivas, Aramis, Nevada, Spunky, Chloe, Zoey, Hansel, Gretel, Dakota and TC Wilson.

Paula is gone but not forgotten. She lives on in my dreams and memories.

For the Good Times

The heartbreak isn't over but I'm beginning to see the light. I've never lost a best friend before. 

Yesterday I was measuring the refrigerator for a replacement. After eighteen years, the old one has finally given up on making things cold. All of a sudden, a magnet jumped off the side wall. When I fished it out from the narrow space between the counter and the appliance, I realized it was the magnet my best friend gave me many years ago. It seemed like a sign to me that she's still with me. I smiled for the first time since Friday when she passed away.

The magnet reminded me of the time at her house when I was raiding her refrigerator and slammed the door too hard. Her little ceramic angel magnet fell off and broke in two. The head rolled underneath and was lost in the dark kingdom of dust bunnies. She'd had to leave town unexpectedly, following the loss of her grandmother and my return flight was not changeable, so I waited alone to go home. I wrote her a short, sorrowful note of apology with an offer to buy her a new magnet to replace the one I ruined. She forgave me with no hesitation and the matter was closed.

My next trip to her house, I was amazed to find the angel magnet hanging proudly on the front of the refrigerator door. She'd found the lost piece and glued it back together. I carefully closed the door on the cold realm of leftovers and sodas and smiled.

My friend will never call me again. We will never walk on the beach looking for shells. Or watch the glorious beauty of sunset we like did so many times on our vacations together. Somehow, I cling to the hope that we are still together, even if separated by life and death, and that one day we will again walk along the shore in awe of God's handiwork.

Banana Pudding with Homemade Custard

Sometimes I crave something that reminds me of summer and childhood. Years ago, we made this recipe with Nabisco Vanilla Wafers and Instant Banana Pudding.

These days, I prefer the taste of the homemade custard that takes only minutes to cook and the flavor alone makes up for the time invested. It's also easy cleanup as only one medium saucepan is needed.

There are 5 main ingredients needed other than bananas and vanilla wafers. Most of these items I keep on hand in my pantry.

Ingredients for the Custard

• 1/2 cup granulated sugar - or use 12 packets of Stevia sweetener or Sucralose
• 4 Tablespoons of powdered corn starch
• 1/4 cup of Karo corn syrup
• 2 egg yolks - It's easy to separate the yolks from the whites. See below.
• 2 cups of whole milk - You can also substitute 2% milk.

After the pudding thickens add:

• 1 Tablespoon butter
• 1 Tablespoon vanilla extract or sometimes I use banana extract if I have it.

To prepare the dish you'll need

• Vanilla wafers and two bananas.

The key to making delicious pudding or custard is in the attention to stirring. Plan to dedicate 15 minutes of your undivided attention to this. Constant stirring eliminates the need for a double boiler and keeps the pudding from scorching and sticking to the pan.

Instructions

Start with a heavy duty medium sized pan.

Measure out the sugar or sweetener right into the cold pan.

Add the corn starch and Karo syrup.




Separate the egg whites from the yolks by using a knife to crack the egg or strike it gently on a the edge of the counter.

Over a separate container, allow the egg white to drip through half of the shell.

Pour the egg yolk into the pan with the dry ingredients.

Pour about half a cup of the milk into the ingredients and stir with a whisk to form a paste.

Add the remaining milk and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly.

Set a timer for about 20 minutes. Depending on your stove, it takes from 15 - 20 minutes for the mixture to come to a boil. At the first sign of boiling, remove the pan from the heat and add the pat of butter and vanilla extract. Stir and allow to cool a bit while you prepare the dish.

Line a casserole dish with a layer of Vanilla Wafers. 

Slice the bananas over the wafers.

Pour the cooked pudding custard over the top.

End with another layer of bananas and finish with the custard. Sometimes I crumble a few Vanilla wafers over the top. 

Chill in the refrigerator for at least two hours and serve with whipped cream.

I hope you enjoy this family favorite dessert.

5 Hours in the Emergency Room

Sitting in the ER on the day before a holiday can be frustrating. Truth is, it can be frustrating anytime, any day. A visitor tends to notice the small, bothersome things, like debris on the floor or black scuff marks on the wheels of the gurney. The patient, on the other hand, notices only the delay in getting the proper care or pain medication that they are screaming for at the moment.

The constant bleeping noise of the blood pressure monitor, left running while the patient is taken to some mysterious location for CT Scans and Sonograms becomes the heartbeat of the room.

The wail of other emergency transport vehicles sounds loud as they echo down the deserted hallways, first a siren, later only flashing red and blue lights before the transport team makes their way past us to one of eighty rooms in the ER.

A lonely housekeeper pushes the hospital equivalent of a Swiffer down the linoleum tile. I almost asked when our room will be swabbed as well, but I didn't. Instead, I concentrated on the blaring volume of the TV where the soap opera plays its own version of drama. My companion, the patient's mother, stares without blinking at the screen catching up on her stories so she can relay updates to her daughter when she returns.

Minutes tick by on the clock in the room, the hands moving ever so slowly as we wait for some sort of results or decisions. After an hour, I go out in search of my missing friend.

"They said she'd only be gone a few minutes," I tell someone kind enough to stop.

"Oh, the techs have no idea how long it takes," the radiologist informs me as I'm pacing the halls under the x-ray sign. "I'll find out what happened to her." He asks her name again. I tell him.

At that moment, a door opens and they roll her back to the same location on the dirty floor of the ER room where it rested before. Someone else comes in the room with the same questions that have been answered a number of times. I wonder what is the point of entering data into the computer when no one can find it again.

The doctor on staff, who's substituting for the regular doctor who's on holiday, who is filling in for the patient's primary care physician, asks if my friend has an Advanced Directive and a Living Will. Although expected, this brings to light the severity of the situation and the possibilities of the outcome.

Five hours of staring at the photo on the wall opposite the ER room, the nurse finally tells us that a room assignment has been made. They roll the patient down the hall, with a brief stop in front of the nurses' station to add Dilaudid to the IV drip We follow the gurney through two buildings and up an elevator to the south wing on the fourth floor where we settle into an ice cold room, thankfully, a private room with a window, where the questions resume with a familiarity that is unnerving and redundant.

"What is your name and date of birth?"
"Do you have an Advanced Directive? A Living will?"
"What is your level of pain on a scale of one to ten. A ten?"
"What prescription pain medications do you take at home?"

An hour later, the shift changes and the night nurse comes in with the same list of questions. By now, we're preparing flash cards with the answers to save energy.

My friend is in Stage IV of Pancreatic cancer, unable to eat, barely able to walk, and each question answered requires serious effort at speaking. We turn the air conditioner setting warmer from 65 to a more pleasant 75 degrees, take our positions on the hard folding chairs provided and wait.