Hospital Daze

I practically grew up in a hospital. I wasn't sick ever, no. But because that's what I did with my dad, that's where he worked.
While my did his rounds on the graveyard shift.

I'd get to stay up late, roll around in wheel chairs, and not only had the password for the break room, but also a endless supply of juice.
Hospitals have never made me worried or scared.
Sometimes, late at night, if I couldn't sleep, and knew the patient was awake, and my dad had already introduced me to them, I'd sit next to their bed, and just be.
Some would tell me what happened to them, some would smile and we would enjoy the long silences between us. Sometimes we'd watch television.

But it was a hospital, it wasn't always pretty.
 I would see blood, I heard people cry, I heard the stories, I saw scars and wounds.
But it never phased me for some reason, I always knew things would be okay.
My dad was down the hall, and they had big selection of juice and milk flavors.
Things would be okay.

 My point is, I've ever been scared to walk into a hospital, I've never been restless or worried.
If anything, it was comfortable for me.
I could tell you where they keep the warm blankets. I could tell you the colors the hospital socks come in.
The first time I've ever been scared in a hospital, was  December 9, 2011.
The day of your first arm surgery.
I didn't get to see you before you went into the operating room, and that killed me.
I sat in the waiting room for five hours. Trying to eat the snacks I'd packed the night before, trying to work on  finishing one of the many books that needs finishing, talking to your mother and trying not cry like the complete wuss that I am.
That waiting room was so uncomfortable. I kept looking at the screen to see if your surgery status had changed at all, and for five hours, it hardly changed.

The doctor finally came out, and told us how everything went.
He told us we could go up to the room.

So, we grabbed our things. And yours.
Unfortunately, you have no idea how to pack light.
So, the trip upstairs wasn't exactly easy on the arms.
So, we get to the room.
Me and your mother. And it's empty.
You hadn't come up from recovery yet.
So again, we waited. Probably for another forty minutes.
You finally came in. I let your mom rush to you first. I didn't want to intrude.
I was surprised, because shortly after, you asked " Is Paige here?"
"I am here, Jared." I said loudly enough for you to look in my general direction. I walked over to you, swept your hair back and kissed your forehead.
"Hi", I said.
I always seem to do that, whenever I am nervous or excited about something, the only thing that seems to come out is 'hi'.
I am sorry you got involved with girl who has the vocabulary of a kindergartner.

 I was so happy to see you, though. You looked tired and your medicine was starting to wear off.
 I sat in the chair closest to your bed, and moved it even closer.
Your mom left, and so it was just you and I.
It was a little bit of a silent room, because of how much you were sleeping. So, I tried to read my book.
But, mostly I paced around the room, fiddled with my journal and camera, and dealt with the nurses.

It was okay that you slept so much, not only were you healing, but it also gave me some time to take a few photos.

Every time you woke up throughout the day you would say I love you.
It was cute, and drug educed.
Drugs- the doorway to romance.

Your parents and I talked, and decided I'd stay the night with you there, at the hospital.
 I wouldn't have had it any other way. Your parents were kind enough to bring me dinner.
And you were kind enough to say awake for about two minutes for their visit.

Towards the late night hours, you were up, talking to me.
Scratch that. I was talking to you.
But, your eyes were open and you responded, usually.
I tried to get you to eat something, so you wouldn't feel as nauseated from all the medication.
I got a fig nugget, two saltines, and half of the Clementine I was enjoying, in you.
There was one point in the night, where I asked you what we were going to do, when you left to New York, and you looked at me with your squinty eyes and said " I am going to throw up."
I grabbed a bucket, and you did, in fact throw up.
I know. I am the worst for bringing that up- but in my defense, you seemed coherent.
And then you had to be all dramatic, and throw up to avoid the entire subject.

The night was long, and filled with multiple nurses.
Almost every single one would ask me if I was your wife.
I would tell them no, in hopes they would drop the subject entirely, but they would ask ' Are you his girlfriend?'
I would tell them yes, in hopes they would drop the subject entirely, but then some would say ' You must care about him a lot. Girlfriends hardly stay over'
Which, just made me said for humanity entirely.
You can have just as much feelings for someone being their girlfriend, as you would being their wife. If anything, wife's don't like you as much.
Because when you're married, you're allowed to hate the other person.

So anyway, it was around one a.m. when I tried to go to bed. After a few hours in the recliner chair, and having to move away from your bed for the nurses, only to move it back when they were done.
You looked at me and said to come lay next to you.

I knew you loved me before this.
But that moment, was when it really set in for me.
You shared your hospital bed with me. I'll never forget that moment.
I crawled in next to you, as we arranged the blankets in a manner that would keep us both covered.
And we slept.

Or tried to, at least.
I would jolt up random times in the night, just to make sure you were okay.
I had to move out of the bed around seven, because the nurses had to get to you, and I was in the way, again.
That whole next day was long for both of us.
You didn't want to go home, you hardly ate anything, and you felt awful.
The only time I left was to go to the store to get you things you might want later on
 (Don't worry, I left you with water by your side, and 30 Rock on your laptop.)
After having the worst experience at the store, I had finally gotten mini Coke bottles, Wheat Thins, and Go-Gurt. I rushed back in the hospital. I was so relieved to see you hardly moved since I left you. I asked you if you wanted anything I got for you and you told me no.
Le sigh

There is so much more of this I could be writing about.
But I am going to stop early, and end this by saying.
Even when you don't make sense, and you are practically a veggie. I still like you.