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In late 2004ish (your memory goes when you get old you know) Hannah began a mysterious fever that lasted several weeks. It was mysterious because no doctor could figure out what was causing it. I was pretty well occupied trying to work full time and still facilitate several ministries at church as well as raise three little boys and finish remodeling a house that had nearly been eaten apart from the inside with pigeon poop (my life’s not weird enough you say? How about a house where the previous owners drained their sewer into the basement, and had a trash heap in the backyard with 5, yes 5, water heaters in it?). No, Hannah’s fever and illness had nothing to do with the pigeon poo, it was cleaned far before we moved in.

I assumed that most people get sick more often than I do, so I didn’t think much of it when Hannah felt puny for a few days. I didn’t realize that it was out of the ordinary when her low grade fever lasted a week and spiked once a day or so. She did, but unfortunately I was too dumb to pay much attention at the time. I don’t remember who or what finally made me realize that I should be concerned, but I did, and I insisted that she go see a doctor immediately. She was still on Medicaid at the time from the birth of the twins (the mother is usually covered for 1 year after a birth) so she ended up in a clinic in downtown that operated more like something out of a third world country than middletown America. The doctor diagnosed her with a urinary tract infection, prescribed some antibiotics and sent her on her way. We assumed that was the end of it, but after another week and a half the fever was still there, so on doctors orders we went to visit the ER. It seems to me like we visited the ER several times, but since Hannah is not here to correct me and I’m prone to over-remember things, I’m going to assume that it was just one really long stay.

I’m not sure whether you’ve shared a similar experience, but if you visit an ER with anything less than a life threatening condition you must be prepared to wait up to 3 weeks in a waiting room full of sick people who are convinced that their life is in more danger than anyone else in the room and most of them aren’t afraid to express that in the form of complaints, moans, screams and the occasional toddler level temper tantrum. It’s great fun for a young, quiet married couple. After my fourth temper tantrum we were finally taken back to a room and visited by a nurse who asked us what brought us there on such a fine winter, or spring, or fall evening. We explained the fever, the earlier clinic visit and the antibiotics, the continued fever and the culmination of screaming sickies that we were now surrounded by. Then the nurse left never to return.

We listened to people talk in the hallway. Once every hour or so someone would start into our room before they realized that, apparently, there was a sign right outside our door warding off all would be visitors, and then they’d run off like they had somewhere much more important to be. We listened to a deranged man in the hallway start a fight with a nurse, throw her to the ground, and then threaten pee on anyone who approached him that wasn’t what he deemed a ‘pretty $*%^#’. We listened to him pee on several ugly people before he was finally subdued by the security guards. At some point in the evening the mysterious wonderful wizard of oz (who we never actually met) decided that her condition could be caused by something that required a spinal tap to diagnose. A very well endowed nurse explained that it would hurt a little bit and Hannah proceeded to try to crush my hand with her giant man-hands while she buried her face in the nurses, uhm, endowments, and screamed in pain. Of course she didn’t have meningitis (which I just remembered is what the spinal tap was for).

At about 4 in the morning, which was conveniently the time that I would have had to leave in order to be at work that day had she not been admitted, the powers that be decided to admit her into the hospital. Neither of us had much experience with hospitals aside from the births of our children, but let me tell you, it’s a whole lot different when you’re not preparing to bring a new life into the world. It took a few hours to get us moved up to a room that we shared with a very sweet older woman. We spent the first full day enduring test after test and failed diagnosis after failed diagnoses. We were sent to the 3^rd floor for chest x-rays, then back to our room. We were sent to the 8^th floor to be injected with radioactive something and then scanned with something else, then back to our room. It just seemed like one disappointment after another. She didn’t even develop super powers.

Late in the evening of the first day, our lovely nurse explained that since we were in a shared room, I wouldn’t be allowed to stay overnight with Hannah and would have to leave when family visiting hours were over. She told us that she would be back to get me when it was time for me to leave. We spent the next half an hour or so praying together and talking before I finally sat down on the floor (there were no chairs) and just resigned myself to wait for the return of my doomsayer. Since it had been roughly 36 hours since the last time I got any real sleep, I fell asleep right there on the cold hospital floor while I was waiting. Speaking of waiting, you now have to wait until Monday to hear the rest of this story.