Rev. Erudite Redneck, B.S., B.S., M.A., M.Div.

Rough day. I just told Dr. ER that it's a good thing she wound up being here today after all -- an out-of-town trip fell through at the last second yesterday -- and that I have resumed my diety pills, which artifically buoy my spirits.

Otherwise, I might've thrown myself under a truck.

Not really. But it was not a real good day.

It's Dr. ER's birthday! But I've already given her her presents and her cards and we went out to a nice supper Saturday night, and not planning on her being here today, I feel funny because I have nothing for her -- but we *are* fixing to go eat Chinese food.

Mama seemed "there" some of the time I was with her today, but "not there" most of the time. She was sitting up when I got there, and she sat up for several hours. She had her teeth in, but they don't fit right since she went without them for so long.

The nurse said she was wide-eyed this morning, but she was looking at me through beady eyes. I know she is frustrated in a way I can only imagine because she can't talk -- and I'm afraid of what she might say if she could.

There was a "Code Blue" today -- first I've heard after 60-plus days on spending anywhere from an hour to several hours a day at the hospital. Come to think of it, I think that was what made me realized I was sad today. But, I don't know how it turned out.

One time before Christmas as Dr. ER and I were leaving the hospital -- and I haven't told anybody this, so, sorry brother and sisters -- we saw two guys wheeling out a dead person, someone completely covered in a sheet. It was startling, to say the least.

I find myself growing jealous of people I overhear in the hallways and waiting rooms -- those whose loved ones are getting better by leaps and bounds.

About Isaiah 55: 12. The verse is on the wall of the lobby, in a real soothing kind of font, and I have thought of it often since Nov. 30, the fiorst day I saw it, the day Mama ER arrived here so far from her home and so far from her comforts and routines.

Here it is. It took me forever to find because it's from the New Jerusalem Bible, a Catholic translation, which apparently is not on-line! I'm typing it in from the Bible I bought Dr. ER (at her request) for Christmas:

Yes, you will go out with joy
and be led away in safety.
Mountains and hills will break into joyful cries before you
and all of the trees of the countryside clap their hands.

Now, it has its context, but whatever. It's a beautiful idea, expressed beautifully, and in a totally appropriate place, since most of the people, by far, who wind up in this particularly hospital, do, in fact, "go out with joy."

I've been very careful not to let myself believe that it will apply to Mama ER. Or so I thought. Maybe I have let myself be too hopeful for my own emotional good.

It occurred to me today: The sentiment might also be there for the likes of me -- for family members who find themselves spending hours and hours and days and days at the bedside of the one they love.

There is no doubt in my mind that I have been there for her, and that y'all all have been praying for her, and for all of us. And that is a cause for joy -- the only one I can think of at this particular moment.

--ER