We got to the hospital at 9:00am, negotiated the admissions process by 11:00am, got settled in the hospital room at noon. The I.V. got put in at 4:15pm, and when I left at 7:00pm, the first bag of saline solution was being hung.
Everything is kind of in slow motion in this Christmas week. So many little children; so many loving parents. So much service and sacrifice. Being at Children's Hospital is like being admitted to a strange kind of co-op apartment building, where the kids don't know the rules not to talk to strangers, and the parents all recognize in each other's faces that we share a bond not all parents share. Short conversations that hold much more than words bind us together. It is a special place, where a lot of the blinders that we can afford to wear in the "normal" world are too expensive and impossible to keep on. We look at the reality of how fragile our beloved is, and all of the sudden we discover that our love for them, their love for us, is power enough to keep going through the next treatment/appointment/adventure. And in short rides on an elevator, smiles in the hall, or conversations in the parents' kitchen, we find out that love is power enough to make us family with people we've never met before.
After the slow motion of today, we've been pushed to the front of the line tomorrow-- kickoff is 7:00am now, with surgery starting at 9:00. I'll communicate once we're on the other side. We are living on your prayers.