Life Matters

Just like Marshmallow Man

By Linda Petersen
Posted 6/30/16

Good health has followed me my whole life. (My mom lived to the ripe old age of 86 having never been hospitalized until severe dementia overtook her sweet brain 2 months before she passed away.) I …

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Life Matters

Just like Marshmallow Man

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Good health has followed me my whole life. (My mom lived to the ripe old age of 86 having never been hospitalized until severe dementia overtook her sweet brain 2 months before she passed away.) I had only been in the hospital one time, for the birth of my eldest son at the old “Lying In Hospital” while it was still on Maude Street.

Recently I had the great pleasure of having surgery at the new ambulatory surgical center at Kent Hospital. My daughter, Marie, accompanied me for moral support, although with all of the calming, friendly nurses around, additional support wasn’t needed. Marie, realizing she didn’t have to fulfill the role of hand holder, asked for money to go to the cafeteria. When I reminded her that she was holding my wallet, she skipped away joyfully as though she had won the lottery. In the waiting room, she was shown where the snacks and drinks for waiting family members were, along with free WiFi and a computer screen on which my secret patient number moved through the rotation until I was safely in recovery and ready for her “support” again.

The lovely hospital garment worn was an extra extra large size, pastel purple, “tie in the back” gown. Thoughts of Barney the Dinosaur came to mind, and I thought they overestimated my size, but then my size inflated…with warm air delightfully pouring into the many air pockets of the gown. I ballooned in size, much like the Marshmallow Man in the Ghostbusters movie. I loved every minute of it, feeling cozy and light as air.

I was slightly disappointment when it had to be disconnected and the gown deflated, much like a popped balloon. But I WAS there for an operation, and the time had come to be wheeled to the operating room. My first impression of the room was how clean and uncluttered it looked. With the exception of the operating table, onto which I would soon be scooching, there were no visible sharp instruments or blood splattered on the floor; a sterilized “Grey’s Anatomy” came to mind. My exceptional doctor, Danny Humbyrd MD from West Bay Orthopedics, smiled and said it certainly was like “Gray’s Anatomy”, the book of human anatomy, which all doctors must memorize.

While lying on the operating table with my arm out, relaxing medication flowed through an intravenous needle, which became my best friend as I gently drifted off, only to be awakened two seconds later, (or so it seemed.) Lying in the recovery room, another calming and friendly nurse offered me ginger ale and graham crackers, which tasted SO good. My “supportive” daughter then joined me; proudly waving a bag of presents she had bought at the hospital gift shop with MY money. My favorite was something she presented with a flourish, an angel imbedded in acrylic, forever posed with her welcoming arms out. “I not with you ALL time,” she signed in ASL. “She keep you company.” Yes, indeed she has, I thought, remembering the many nurses and other hospital staff who so cheerily greeted and cared for me.

Angels aren’t always invisible.

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