#13 The Elevator

       The elevator. It's my refuge. I'd ride it to the top, to the bottom, and back again. I'd go down to the other wing and step in that one. No one on that end knew me. It didn't matter to me if it was full or empty. I couldn't hear any beeping machines or the hiss of oxygen. I couldn't hear children crying or parents weeping. Sometimes if I was by myself I'd have me a little out-loud chat with Jesus. It  usually went like this: "I know you can heal her. Just do it already!" The end. 

Leaving the elevator was emotionally exhausting... every time I'd return to the floor, it was a reminder of what our reality had become. The morning after they found the pneumonia, I returned to find my baby girl wasn't in her bed in the Critical Care Unit. I literally felt my heart stop beating. I couldn't breathe. The sounds of the room swirled around my head.

A hand on my shoulder.

"Are you looking for Stacey?" I could only nod because my throat was in a vice grip of panic.

Because her pneumonia was so bad and they didn't know the source, they had to put her in isolation. She'd been moved. Tears of relief!
We were now in our own room, but the door had to stay closed and anyone who entered or left, had to scrub, gown up and use gloves and a mask. We also had to scrub up right outside her door before we left. It made 

My Auntie and a favorite nurse

even going to the bathroom a project! It was quiet, but it was lonely. 

I requested a rocking chair and decided to make the best of our 7 day stay, knowing we would then go home and resume life as we knew it....

Or so we thought.