Jan is Still in the ER!
Estimated reading time: 9 minutes, 17 seconds
Jan Lilien
Morning Without Jan
As a caregiver for the few days she was home, I had gotten accustomed to text messages all night asking me to help Jan from the bed to the bathroom. Of course, she was in the hospital and would not be texting me. As usual, I awoke at 5:30, prepared breakfast, and did my morning chores.
I texted her to let her know I loved her and find out which room she was in. Her response shocked me.
No room and no idea when. Fever again. Do not text or call too depressed.
March 2, 2021, 7:18 am
I looked at the clock. It was more than twelve hours since I took her to the emergency room. Why is she still there and not in a hospital room?
Of course, I called her, and she answered.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know….”
Her tears and the noise in the background made it difficult to hear her.
“I am still on the thin cot in the emergency room!”
“I’ll call Dr. Strair and do whatever I can to get you into a room.”
“I just want to come to be home in our new bed with you.”
“I know. I want you home as well.”
“I have to go. They want to do vitals….”
I stared at the phone as if I would answer my prayers for my wife.
I dialed Dr. Strair to ask for his help without looking at the time.
“My wife, Jan, has been in the ER all night. I am worried she will only get sicker the longer she stays.”
Dr. Strair responded, “I am on the way to the hospital and will visit her and find out why she has not been admitted.”
“Thank you so very much!”
I felt a small ray of hope.
In the afternoon, I texted Dr. Strair after speaking to Jan.
Dr. Strair, thank you for visiting my wife, Jan Lilien. She appreciated it very much. Any update on when she might get a room? It has been 20 hours since she arrived at the emergency room.
March 2, 2021, 2:46 pm
He responded.
“I am sorry. I had to leave for an emergency. I’ll see if there is anything I can do remotely.”
I thanked him and paced around the apartment. If I circumnavigated the ground floor, I could log 96 steps. I made that journey so many times that I was afraid I would wear a hole in my shoes.
After a partially eaten dinner, I called Jan.
“Hello, my love.”
“I am still here, and I have no idea when I will leave.”
“I spoke to Dr. Strair, and you are first on the list for a bed. He said someone was being discharged at five today.”
“What time is it now?”
I told her it was seven.
“I’ll believe it when they move me.”
I asked if she was going to her healing circle.
“I plan to, but it is so noisy, and they are constantly coming in for vitals or changing the IV.”
I took a deep breath to try to stop my tears.
“I love you, and I am doing everything I can to get you into a room.”
“I know you are. I am not angry with you. I’m just worried I could be here forever!”
One of her nurses came in, and she had to get off the phone.
“I love you!” I yelled so loud the neighbors could have heard me.
Jan’s frustration scared me, but unlike her, I remained optimistic that a resolution to this crisis would happen soon. I shared the following text with my sons.
After almost 48 years, I recently lost my wife, Jan Lilien. Like The Little Prince, Jan and I believed that “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” This blog is a collection of my random thoughts on love, grief, life, and all things considered.
