The pinwheel display at the hospital entrance makes a bright statement and lighthearted ambiance. I just drove by them last week since we missed the MRI appointment and didn’t know they served a symbolic purpose. But this Thursday we made it on time and were able to see more pinwheels staked in the playground garden from the inside window of the lobby. Once I read the sign, my heart zinged. What a beautiful design for a worthy and lifesaving cause.

At the hospital, things that I worry about outside those doors seem to dissipate. Kids cling to good health and life with hopeful hearts and smiles even in painstakingly difficult situations. There’s unusual peace and kindness. Maybe that’s what happens when all that matters is survival.

I took this picture at 3 p.m. on a drizzly and windy afternoon right as we headed back into the elevator for the parking garage. Ellis and I were dogged tired, famished, and ready to hit the road before afternoon traffic started. Getting the MRI done was supposed to take 2 hours, but the whole process took 4.

My back felt crooked from hours of being Ellis’ cuddle bear and bean bag chair while Ellis got her iv jabs, 4 times, and cheerleader as my torso leaned over the side of the MRI machine with me waving like a maniac, massaging feet, shouting words of support, and standing in an awkward posture so she could see my face from inside the MRI tube.

Her breathing was fast and her hands squirming; I thought she was going to hyperventilate, so I tapped her foot steadily so to pace her breath. I had no idea what I was doing but it felt right. Her tears welled up, some rolled down the sides of her face, and I had no idea this could happen but a pool of tears collected under her eyes. I hurried to the MRI technician’s window and motioned with a tissue if I could wipe her tears. The loud rumble stopped and I got 3 seconds to reach in and dab her face.

It was an overall burdensome experience. Ellis needed to hold her breath during some parts of the scan and stay still throughout. The iv jab took longer than usual since she was dehydrated and her veins weak. It took 4 jabs, the ultrasound machine, and 2 different nurses. They searched for that big
“juicy vein” but cardiac kids have weak veins and special plumbing, so lab work and/or iv are more challenging than for other patients. I renamed the “juicy vein” to “Jane”; got a few laughs from everyone and it’s become our secret hospital lingo. Ok, this is how silly I am. I felt so darn clever with that rewording that I was chuckling to myself every time I thought about it. I know…seriously…I’m 45 and I get a kick of out of this stuff.

She bravely withstood the pain of it all, the discomfort of staying still for the scan, and reluctantly changing into the hospital gown (as opposed to wearing her own clothes as she did even during previous hospitalizations. We’re happy it’s over and now we wait for results. God’s timing is perfect and we trust He’s got our backs.

Lots of times I feel invisible as I work to keep the ball rolling smoothly at home.

Categories: Faith journey Hospital visits Mom lIfe Random Thoughts

Tagged as: hospital vibes MRI scan pinwheel design transplant heroes

singlikewildflowers

Welcome to my blog! My name is Esther and I'm so happy you are here. I'm an avid nature photographer and a daydreaming thinker. My posts revolve around photos of nature's beauty, homeschooling adventures with my 2 kids, sporadic reflections on my child's heart condition, Bible reading reflections, gardening feats, and other mish mash things. Hopefully you'll leave encouraged, pensive, or smiling at the simple things of life. Thank you for stopping by and hope you'll find some interesting posts to read!