I arrived at the hill slightly early this morning, parked in the Doernbecher parking lot and proceeded to hold my own little private rock concert as I sang at the top of my lungs to Radiohead. The doors don't open until 5am, unless you have a child actually in the hospital. In my rearview mirror, I caught sight of someone walking towards a car behind me. He was peering at me and I guessed it was because I had my radio blaring.
A few minutes later, I realized he was sitting in his car smoking and I marked him as a parent. As 5am approached, I saw he had gotten out of his car again and was walking towards the doors.
I did the same.
He was a ways ahead of me and already at the Starbucks counter in the lobby when I entered the building. By the time I reached the elevators and was getting in, the man was right behind me with coffee in hand. I pushed the button for the 10th floor, he pushed the 8th floor, stepped back and with a great sigh said, "Thank god for Starbucks."
It was at that point that I truly looked at him. He had that harried, dazed, stunned, exhausted look about him, something I have seen in countless other parents, something I have seen in myself time and again. I realized he had pushed the button for the 8th floor, which either means surgery or my new friend, the PICU.
Then I saw the tell-tale sticker on his shirt. I smiled ruefully and said, "Especially in the PICU."
He glanced at me with surprise and then nodded his head, "7 days with only 2 hours sleep a night is really starting to kick my butt."
The doors to the elevator opened on the 8th floor and I responded with, "I understand. My child just had a kidney transplant. The PICU and I are now well acquainted."
"Oh yeah... I guess you would understand."
We gave each other a look, one of recognition and sympathy. I called out "good luck" to him as he left.
He glanced back at me, smiled warmly and said, "Thanks... you too."
When your child is born and admitted to the NICU, you receive a wristband that matches your child's. It is as if you are admitted right along with them. You are required to keep the wristband on for as long as your child is in the NICU. For long-term guests of the NICU, it is a formality only. The staff gets to know you by first name.
When your child is admitted to the PICU, you get daily stickers to wear. Thursday, Saturday, Monday, Wednesday...whatever day it is, you are wearing a little sticker proudly or embarrassingly proclaiming you know what day it is and that you are a member of the PICU crowd. Though, I must admit that it was sometimes really helpful to have that sticker, because I would forget the day. They all seem to blur together, especially as your sleepless nights drag on. A reality check could be obtained any time you needed one by looking down at your jacket or shirt...
"what day is it...? Oh, right... it's Wednesday. When are we supposed to leave this floor.... ? Friday. Two full days left. Or is it three?"
Unfortunately, stickers don't help with the ability you seem to lose to do even the simplest of tasks (i.e. basic math)....
Anyway, that man and I exchanged a moment and it has stayed with me for the past four hours. We are PICU veterans. The experience forever changes us.
