Friday the 28th.
Jennifer, the same nurse that gave us the tip about keeping a notebook, comes on her shift. They used mobile computers on stands for patient instructions and information. She keeps coming in the room and checking the computer for doctors orders. She must have suspected things were moving for us.
Everything starts to feel like one of those seemingly impossible math word problems. Two or three trains coming from different directions, which one will get there first. Mathew’s vena cava collapses, his liver shuts down or he suffers a blood clot.
A few hours later Jennifer comes in to tell us they have a bed for Mathew at Moffitt. She said, “I told them don’t give it to anyone else!”
“Do I need to arrange transportation?” I asked, worried because I wasn’t sure how or where to start.
“No.” Transportation was being arranged. We should get ready.
It was early evening. Just myself and Mathew, no time to call anyone for help. This would happen more often than not.
It amazes me how much one person can accumulate in just a few days in the hospital.
I had already taken home the clothes he had worn when he was admitted. They were keeping him in a hospital gown and non-skid socks.
****
But there were flowers, cards, candy, books, the Notebook, Mathew’s journal and the guitar.
I never realized how close he kept his journal until right now, as I write this. Throughout this journey, and for years before, always his journal.
I packed everything and waited. It was late at night when we got the word that an ambulance was there for Mathew.
Jennifer helped me carry everything down through the ER and out to the ambulance and my car. She carried the guitar, I can see that clearly. She chatted with Mathew and wished him luck.
The ambulance attendants were so nice. Mathew could talk to just about anyone about something. He had a way of finding common ground and people responded to him as a result. I loaded up my car and pulled behind the ambulance. It was approx. 11pm.
I was used to traveling down Hwy 301 or I-75 to go to Tampa, but we took Morris Bridge Road, a winding country road, but a short route overall. Eventually, this would be our route of choice.
Mathew teased me later, telling me that he told the attendants he could tell that was his Mom in the car following because of my “fancy” maneuvers.
By the end of this blog I will have a number for you of the amount of times I drove Mathew the 35 miles from our home to Moffitt close to or after midnight because of fevers.
****At some point we start washing and saving all of the non-skids. Mathew had visions of forming an inspiration word with them once he was through with treatments.
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