Knowing that my son had an outside appointment for an extremely important procedure scheduled for a Monday, I gave him the choice of a nice visit on Sunday, or I would attend the appointment.  I usually do both, but it’s getting to me and I have to make choices, I let my son make the choice.  He chose the visit on Sunday.

Because we have had so many problems with transportation, and other negative situations, and knowing that this particular procedure was extremely essential to a possible discharge to an appropriate facility, a real brain injury facility; it was a tough choice.   However, he made the choice and we had a lovely afternoon visit on Sunday.

A very good friend, whom I have known since high school, was in town from California.  We were able to meet up for a quick visit, as I travelled from the hospital to home, she went out of her way to meet me at my convenience, not hers, and we had a great visit, some laughs, and I have new appreciation for how lovely a friend she is and has always been.

On one of her last visits from California, years ago now, she actually accompanied me to visit my son when he was in Hagedorn, before that hospital was closed.  She got my son to laugh and to actually get up and dance with her.  At that time I was in awe.  There was no judgment, no negative feedback, just a person visiting a friend’s child who was in hospital, as if it were a regular hospital for an illness that carries no stigma.

Then Monday hit, and reality set in.  Starting last Friday morning I sent multiple emails, to the powers that be, to inquire if all was set for the procedure and not one single person got back to me to confirm that: transportation was in place, accompanying staff were in place that my son was fully prepared for the visit.  It was the first EEG in over a year, too long, and anxiety was prevalent.  For both of us.

So I did the one thing that I could do.  I got to the nurses.  Yesterday, I met with the nurse, and today I called three times, and every time those nurses went out of their way to let me know that all was well.  Even though that is not their job, in this particular, so complicated situation.

No matter what I say or write about this ordeal, I know that, most of the time, the nurses who work with my son are truly special people.  It was a long hard day.  But it was important and I don’t see why it would be so hard to answer my questions with a simple note or phone call.

So I end this with the knowledge that some friends are true friends, that laughter doesn’t always have to make me feel guilty and that some of the people who work with my son are truly doing their very best.