Lou’s latest indigent care caseworker was very helpful.
She clearly wanted to make sure Lou was taken care of, but her main focus was helping us find “affordable options.” So on that first morning, while Lou was still wrestling with the reality that we were going to have to stay in Minnesota for at least a week — maybe even two — I was learning all about the hospital’s assisted living accommodations.
Basically, the school had a large dorm dedicated to patients (or family members of patients) that was situated right next to the hospital. It was something between a student dormitory and a strange hostel for “slightly” sick people and their families. If you were a patient in need of lodging, you had to be convalescing, and not in need of monitoring or around the clock care. If you met those criteria, you could reserve a room at $35 per night when they had vacancies.
We were in luck that week because they had a room for us.
So Lou and I went ahead and booked one week in the dorm, and by early that afternoon, we were slowly shuffling our way to our new room. When I opened the door, I was transported back to my freshman year of college — although I seemed to be lacking the same giddy optimism I had back then.
The room was very bare; the cinderblock walls were painted an institutional cream color; and, there were two wood-framed twin beds haphazardly pushed up against the walls. A couple of wobbly dressers were also crammed into the room; and, there was a very small bathroom with granny grips mounted to the walls over the toilet and inside of the shower.
Lou was almost inconsolable when we fully stepped into the room. Things had turned especially awful for him, and the pain he was experiencing after the cauterizing was some of the worst so far. Lou was dealing with another “walking cath,” and I was still in charge of emptying it to ensure Lou didn’t injure himself. We were going to have to stay nearby until Lou’s prostate had healed up enough to remove the catheter so he could pass urine on his own. The procedure the doctor did was repeatedly referred to as “traumatic,” so it was clear that this could take awhile.
Lou didn’t have any clothes with him — because he really believed he would fly back to his sister’s house on the day of the surgery — so a very nice nurse gave him two sets of green, XL hospital scrubs. Lou was holding his extra set of scrubs in his hand as we entered the room, and I remember him burying his face in them as he tried to accept our latest situation.
It was indeed depressing.
There were some folded hospital linens on the ends of both beds, and so I quickly snapped to work to make Lou a cozy nest to crawl into. It was nearly mid-September when all of this was happening, and the trees just outside the window of our room were starting to change colors. The previous week had been my 41st birthday, but things like that seemed to be a bother at the time. The year before, Lou set up such a huge party for me — he invited so many people I love to surprise me, and then he bought me the best gift I’ve ever gotten: a Dyson vacuum cleaner!
But that seemed like a lifetime ago…
The students were back on campus, and they were into their first couple weeks of a new semester. When I opened up the window to let a little fresh air into our room, I could hear students laughing and shouting. I spotted a couple of healthy youngsters throwing a Frisbee on the grassy area just below our window. There was such a sizzle of excitement and freedom outside of our room. So many options, so much possibility…
