Driving Her Home

I drive because I have to drive.  I like my car.  I like how I look in my car.  I like driving my car but I don't necessarily enjoy driving.  That makes no sense...I know, but it's the truth.  If money were no object, I'd have a chauffeur.  No joke.  I think that would be a most marvelous thing.  That being said, when it came time to bring MILove home from her initial hospital stay, I never imagined it would be me doing the driving.

When she was admitted on April 12, discharge seemed light years away...too far away to think about.  She was too sick to look that far into the future.  About a week before her release happened, the conversations with the treatment team began to include the topic of discharge.  Lots of conversations...everybody and their specialists' brothers had a dog in this particular hunt.  Once every opinion was aired, they cut us loose and it seemed like they couldn't get us out the door fast enough!  We hit the bricks about 5:00pm and rolled right into the teeth of Friday rush hour traffic.  The adrenaline fueled sweat that started two hours earlier revved to a new level.

So, we bobbed and weaved (wove?) our way through the traffic.  We stopped about an hour or so down the road for supper and here came another flood of adrenaline.  Why?  The medication.  For six weeks, the nurses handle the dispensing of medication.  She rolled in with a few and rolled out with about about eight more.  I took her medication bag and began to pray for Elizabeth or Rhett; Lauren, Christine or Emily to magically appear in the parking lot.  I sort of floated outside of myself for a brief moment and got a look at the situation.  Very tense middle aged woman, in the midst of a serious adrenaline sweat doling out a serious amount of pharmaceuticals to a sixty-six year old woman who is trying to give herself her supper time dose of insulin!  And the expression of the little, bald headed woman...what can be seen above her surgical mask...is one of wild eyed euphoria!  Pills, needles, crazy eyed women in a restaurant parking lot...nothing shady about that!

By the time we were ready to tackle the final two hours of our journey, it was raining.  Now, I don't mean a gentle shower.  I mean it was like a monsoon!  Coming down in sheets and hitting the pavement with such force that it was bouncing back up.  Visibility was nil...daylight was exhausted.  Driving 40MPH down the interstate, flashers engaged and the craziest thought flew through my head...she survived six weeks of legitimate medical science experiments but the trip home might be a different story!  How in the world would I explain that to the family?!  Adrenaline induced hysteria...I blame the adrenaline.

Thankfully, we arrived at her house just before Friday became Saturday.  I hopped the curb and pulled as close as I could to the front sidewalk.  The deal was that I would unlock the door and turn on some lights and then come back and help her get in.  I was fumble fingers with the key....adrenaline shakes...and all the sudden, I hear her voice behind me..."What's wrong?  Have you got the right key?  Why is your back so wet???"  Anxious to get into her house doesn't cover it.  She nearly ran up the back of my head to get inside.  There was joy on her face that I hadn't seen in far too long.  Being home has a curative effect that no medicine can duplicate.

Funny how you are often forced to do things that make you uncomfortable and test your resolve.  When the difficult task is finished, the sense of accomplishment is very gratifying.

But I still don't like being the one in the driver's seat and I'd still have a chauffeur.

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