Dear friends,
This is a family emailing I wrote about our Thanksgiving. I thought I'd
go ahead and post it here, sometimes the site is so quiet and sometimes
we need a little distraction from all this medical stuff.
I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving and had something to be
thankful for.
Pam, I hope the insurance stuff gets straightened out. That can be so
frustrating, and it isn't as if you don't have enough to worry about.
Here is my account of our Thanksgiving weekend:
When Emily came home from the hospital, it was cause enough for
thanksgiving. We were so thankful her appendicitis had been detected
while it was still in the early stages. We were so thankful her loss of
consciousness did not herald anything more serious. And we were really
glad that it didn't happen while she was overseas.
I was still worn out and weakened from my asthma attack earlier in the
week, but once she was at home, I felt like I could relax.
The following day was my birthday, but we really didn't do anything
much. Emily gave me a cake, and Bill gave me his present, a necklace he
had purchased at an antique store. The kids saved their presents for
the big celebration, the one following my parents arrival for
Thanksgiving.
My birthday is always in the same week as Thanksgiving. When I worked a
weekend shift, which I did for many years, Thanksgiving was the one
holiday I was sure to have off. So my parents began visiting me at
Thanksgiving, and my older brother at Christmas. They always celebrate
my birthday when they are here, as well.
This year I told my parents I wanted to go to see the Predators,
Nashville's ice hockey team, play for my birthday. I met the Predators
once in the playroom at Vanderbilt, when the team was giving a
Christmas party for hospitalized children. Up until that point, I had
never considered attending an ice hockey game, and I knew little about
the sport. But my interests changed. Up close, without the pads and
the helmets, these guys were a bunch of studs. Not too big, not too
tall, but extremely athletic looking. I like to ice skate and thought
I'd like to see what kind of moves these guys could perform on ice.
When Joey was alive, we really didn't have the time or money to pursue
such interests. But now that he is no longer with us, I set a personal
goal of viewing an ice hockey game this winter.
Our opportunity came when our family received free tickets to attend a
hockey game in Vanderbilt's private box, as a reward for Bill's and my
service on a committee composed of parents of sick children, which
advocates for families and serves to advise the hospital on various
matters. Bill, Emily, Forrester, Forrester's best friend, Brendan and I
all attended our first game.
Bill and Emily, being a little more social, enjoyed meeting and talking
with the other people in the box. Forrester and Brendan enjoyed the
ample quantities of free food. But I got hooked on the game.
What a game! Ice hockey moves faster than basketball. Ice hockey moves
faster than soccer, but has all of that non-stop intensity. And its got
the thrill of a demolition derby, as the players move about and crash
into and check one another. I loved it, probably for the same
inexplicable reason I love demolition derbies. And Emily hated it,
probably for the same reason she hates demolition derbies, but she did
enjoy the social aspect of seeing the game in the private box.
I was glad Emily was available to be sociable for me, because I learned
how to watch sports from my father. I don't watch that much sports, but
I am serious about what I view. Don't talk to me about anything except
the game while the game is in play. Yelling is essential to being a
committed fan, whether it occurs in the stadium or is directed at the
t.v. (But I do not yell obscenities, a girl has to have some standards.)
Ironically, I learned to watch sports as an only girl child growing up
with brothers, starting with those football games in my preschool years
in West Texas, where the high school football team was the only form of
entertainment in our small desert town. My husband, on the other hand,
is the less competitive of the two of us, and grew up as the only male
child among sisters. He didn't watch much in the way of sports growing
up, he claims he spent weekends attending horse shows with his sisters.
He grew up with no love lost for horse shows, and I grew up with more
knowledge of football.
I was surprised when my first ice hockey game ended after three periods
and the Predators had lost. I thought everything had four quarters, and
I still wanted more.
So I began campaigning to get Bill to take me to another game. The only
problem was, it is obvious in my house who the bigger sports fan is.
Bill spends his free time building miniature buildings and modeling an
HO scale world, an activity which is tedious and time consuming but
which brings him great pleasure. Why would he want to leave his
miniature world for a hockey game? What does ice hockey have to do with
model railroading?
Finally I realized I was aiming at the wrong target. Why not go back to
the person who taught me how to view sports? I asked my dad to take me
to an ice hockey game for my birthday.
Dad not only told me he would, he insisted we purchase the best seats
available, and he would reimburse us. So Bill did, and we made plans to
go to the game the Saturday after Thanksgiving.
Work became more difficult as Thanksgiving approached. I was
anticipating the visit from my parents, and, for personal reasons,
needed a break from Vanderbilt. Thanksgiving was the last holiday we
had together with Joey. Thanksgiving was also the time of his initial
respiratory arrest, the time I performed CPR on Joey in a restaurant
parking lot in the rain. Vanderbilt is my workplace but it is also the
place where my son died.
The last two days before Thanksgiving were the hardest. I had two
patients who had had neurosurgery and developed complications requiring
extended hospital stays and repeat surgery. The parents were
emotionally drained and demanding. Nevertheless, the children both had
excellent long term prognoses. I wanted to tell those mothers, "look,
at least your child has something they can fix!'. But it would not be
therapeutic to say, either for me or for them. And they did have cause
and reason to be anxious. But I found myself wishing they could find
another outlet for their emotions besides ringing that call light.
As soon as I had left the city traffic behind Wednesday night, I called
BIll from my cell phone while traveling the interstate. I couldn't wait
to see if my parents were already at home, and I wanted to make sure
they had arrived safely.
"No, they are not here," Bill replied, " and there is a story behind
that I need to tell you." My Dad had reached over to pick up an object
he had dropped just hours before they were to leave home. He had pulled
his back and pinched the nerve that leads to his leg. He was in a lot
of pain and not able to stand up straight. My parents had decided to
stay home, so Dad could rest and recover.
I began to cry. I was so disappointed. Ear;lier, Bill had told me our
friend Mack wasn't coming this year. I couldn't remember a Thanksgiving
without guests, and I really wanted my family to be with me, so we
could remember the last holiday we celebrated with Joey. And I wanted
to go to an ice hockey game with my Dad. How else would I celebrate my
birthday?
"I'm sorry," Bill said. "I knew that would be hard on you. I will miss
them, too."
I knew I should be glad my folks hadn't been killed in a plane crash or
something, but, at that moment, it was a great letdown.
Thanksgiving wouldn't be the same. And we had three extra hockey
tickets, three because we had purchased one for Mack, as well. I began
to think about finding a home for the tickets.
I remembered they were having a service followed by a potluck dinner at
church the next day. Often various church members do this so people who
are alone at Thanksgiving or away from their families can come and
celebrate with their church family. The service was at 10 a.m. and the
meal was to follow. Perhaps I could go to church and enjoy some
fellowship and a meal while Bill was cooking the turkey for our evening
meal. Maybe I could find a home for those hockey tickets.
So off I went to church the next morning. We hadn't cooked anything
yet, so I grabbed a bottle of wine for our contribution to the potluck.
The kids were sleeping in, and Bill was just starting to cook, so I
went alone.
And that is where Thanksgiving happened for me. The crowd that gathered
afterwards for the meal was small, but I knew most everyone. Both
Father Mickey and our new assistant priest, Dorothy, were there, with
their families. A new mother with her infant and parents, her husband
is serving in Iraq. Bob and Elizabeth, who organized the meal. Eunice,
the woman who stopped me one day at the columbarium to tell me about
all of the many relatives she had who had passed on. Don and Tia, who
arranged to have JOEY in large letters printed on the plaque over
Joey's spot in the columbarium. Even a mentally ill street person who
I've seen hanging around the church came to the service and ate. Her
name, I learned, is Theresa. I spoke to Theresa for a little while, but
her eyes kept darting nervously about the room, as if she felt she was
being spied upon. So I left Theresa alone and just let her eat. My
younger brother is mentally ill and it would be a major achievement to
get him into a public eating area, he always believes he is being
watched, and refuses to eat in a restaurant. So I decided to leave
Theresa alone and just be glad she was there.
Kerry Hudson and her seven year old son, Jonah, were there, along with
her mother in law who was visiting from out of town. Kerry worked with
Joey and his peers in the children's chapel, and I frequently saw Jonah
carry Joey's backpack when Kerry brought Joey into the "big" church for
communion. Kerry's husband,Jonah's Dad, Derrick, is an EMT serving
overseas in Mosul, Iraq.
Kerry told me recently that she and Jonah used to pray every night for
Joey. She would always pray that Joey would be cured but Jonah would
pray that someday Joey wouldn't need his backpack. She said the
backpack worried Jonah, and Jonah felt that there were a lot of things
Joey couldn't do because he had to carry that backpack around with him
all of the time. When she brought Jonah to the visitation before Joey's
funeral he saw the display of all of the backpacks Joey had worn out.
"Look, Mom," he told her excitedly, "our prayers have been answered!
Joey doesn't need those backpacks anymore." Kids see things a little
differently than adults.
I asked Kerry if she had heard from Derrick, and she said he had not
been having a good holiday thus far. His unit had been ambushed and was
forced to counter attack. Five American soldiers had been killed.
Worse, an Iraqi family had been caught in the crossfire and a child the
age of Jonah had been killed. Derrick had been at the scene as an EMT.
I was sorry Derrick had to deal with the death of an innocent child. It
is bad enough to have to deal with being fired upon. This put some of
my problems in perspective. At least no one was trying to kill me.
I told Kerry about my parents being unable to spend Thanksgiving with
us, and the extra hockey tickets. She told me that Jonah loved ice
hockey, having been to a Predator game with his cub scouts. So we made
a date for Kerry, Jonah and Kerry's mother in law to go with Bill,
Forrester and I to the game on Saturday, and I hoped that the news of
Jonah going to a hockey game could reach Derrick and brighten his
Thanksgiving a little, as well.
When we saw Kerry on Saturday she had been able to communicate with
Derrick on instant messenger later on Thanksgiving day. She told me
that he was excited about Jonah going to the game, and she had brought
a digital camera along so she could send photos of us at the game to
Iraq.
Jonah could barely sit still, and we had to endure one bathroom stop
and several "are we there yet"'s on the way to Nashville.
The game was great! We all yelled and cheered as the Predators skated
to victory, beating the Buffalo team 4-0. At one point, a predator T
shirt was thrown out into the crowd as part of a promotion. Forrester
grabbed for it and tipped it, but Jonah got it! The next thing I knew,
he was dancing around in that T shirt, which was way too large for him,
and his delighted mother was taking a snapshot to send to Dad. Then, as
the predators scored their next goal, the camera guy at the arena
focused on Forrester cheering the team on, and we saw his face
projected on the large screen hanging over the arena in front of
thousands of fans. So Forrester has had his 10 seconds of fame.
One of the Predators scored three goals during the game, which I am
told is called a hat trick. It was a career first for him.
So Jonah got a t shirt, Forrester got 10 seconds of fame, and all of
the fans got a hat trick. But, according to Forrester, the best was yet
to come.
All of us adults decided it would be a good idea to make a bathroom
stop before leaving for Clarksville, so we wouldn't have to stop on the
way. When Forrester emerged from the men's bathroom, he had approached
the urinals at the same time as our state governor, Phil Bredesen, and
he and Forrester had urinated at the same time in adjacent urinals.
"Hey, I peeed with the governor!" he exclaimed. "Is that cool or what?
I need a Tshirt or something!"
O.k., I'm a nurse. I had to ask.
"Did he wash his hands?"
"He did." Forrester assured me.
That's good. I'm not saying I voted for him, but I cannot imagine
myself ever voting for someone who doesn't wash their hands after using
the bathroom.
Hopefully our pictures are being viewed by now in Iraq.
There will be a service of evening prayer held in Joey's memory
tonight, Tuesday, December 2, at 6p.m. at Trinity Episcopal Church at
317 Franklin Street, Clarksville, TN. A group of women Forrester
refers to as my "fluffy friends" are providing us with food and plenty
of time for fellowship in the parish hall following the service. It is
not a funeral, it is not formal, it is just a time for us to get
together and commemorate the first anniversary of his death, which is
on Wednesday, December 3. For all of my friends on the PH parents
website, I think of you constantly, and invite you to remember us in
your prayers, as well. And please don't forget our soldiers overseas.
Jennifer