Day 3

There are crickets here. I notice them when I leave the hospital at night, and I'm reminded of New Jersey summers. I used to fall asleep to the sound of crickets every night in the summer, and I didn't realize until I heard them again that I'd been missing that noise all this time.

Leaving the hospital is strange. It doesn't feel right because Vivi's up there, and as I head to the car I'm widening the distance between us. She sleeps at Alex's half of most weeks of the year, but this is different. Even so, I continue. I make the short drive to the Ronald McDonald House because I know it will do me good to sleep in a real bed, and then I'll be better equipped to help Vivi through tomorrow. It also allows me to write these updates, which help me to process and to let folks know what we're up to.

The parent bed in Vivi's room. 

By day it's a chair.

Today was a good day. While Vivian woke up feeling ill, she recovered within an hour, and we managed to give her her first shower. Even better, we had visitors! My cousin Jenny and her husband Leon brought us a few items from the grocery store--tissues, tea, that kind of thing--and LUNCH! The lunch was especially well received because, as we have learned, the hospital is a ghost town on the weekends. Vivian is the only patient on the floor. There are three other families staying in another part of the hospital, and there are two nurses on duty and a volunteer at the front desk and a single cook somewhere in the kitchen, but that's it. Honestly, it's like being in the Overlook Hotel, only without the psychopathy. And snow. There's no snow. Oh, or a hedge maze. Or twins.

Anyway, Jenny and Leon brought us a feast--sandwiches from Whole Foods, three bags of chips, lemonade and Arnold Palmer (the drink, thank goodness, 'cause that guy can eat)--and the five of us dined outside in the shade. It was lovely. Vivian was proud to show off her walker and wheelchair skills, and she gave Jenny and Leon a tour of the hospital. When we went into the cafeteria, the nice woman who works there gave her a KitKat.

Jenny and Leon went above and beyond the call of familial duty and stayed with us for FIVE HOURS. Thank you, cousins! You made this day a pleasure and helped it to pass quickly.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that we made the acquaintance of Alison, a 15-year-old girl who unceremoniously cruised into our room on her power-wheelchair, and introduced herself to us with the help of a talking tablet. While Alison cannot say much, she is wonderfully expressive and very funny. We spent quite a bit of time with her today; she even helped us to decorate a calendar for the wall in Vivian's room. And she taught us about boy bands and teenage heartthrobs. (By "us" I mean the grownups because somehow Vivian already knew.)

When Jenny and Leon were saying their goodbyes, Vivi said, "I wish I could go home." But then a bit later when the night nurse asked her if the halo is as bad as she thought it would be, she said it wasn't. She's an amazing person, my girl. She's working through this in her own way, and I'm grateful that I am able to be with her and to help her along. I know Alex feels the same.

When our visitors left (with last night's hot pot), Vivian, Alex, and I ate leftovers and watched more of The Muppet Show, season 3 (from 1978). Remember Leslie Ann Warren? Remember Liberace? Pearl Bailey? Alice Cooper? Danny Kaye? They were "it" once, and in Room 11 they are once again enjoying the limelight. And that pretty much ended our day. We helped Vivi from her chair to her bed--it takes us plus a nurse to do that--and we read stories and sang songs. And then I went outside and felt the warm air even though it was night, and I heard the crickets.