The 11th Floor

This is my second visit to Denver in as many months, and like the first visit, the first stop was the University of Colorado hospital—our home away from home. I rolled in late in the evening after 10 hours of the most exhilarating drive yet. Fields to the left of me, fields to the right of me---the variety was overwhelming. The encouraging news is that had I drifted off the road, I’d likely just blaze a course through the fields, likely running into the occasional cow or llama instead of a hill, or say, structure of any kind. This would be very cruel if it weren't so true. (Not all of Kansas is this way, just a good stretch of the journey). It’s quite stunning, in all sincerity. However, I tempted fate twice, flirting with “empty” much too closely. Kansas is not quite the state to do that, especially when there was ne’er a structure as far as the eye could see. I typically appreciate the open skyline, unfettered of all things billboard or building. BUT, it would have served the weary traveler well to have A sign indicating ‘gas ahead’ from time to time. I’m exaggerating because it’s fun. The drive was quite lovely, and I appreciated the uninterrupted sunset above and beyond the “hustle and slow” of the DC beltway.  

 

I did see quite a few advertisements for visiting a prairie dog farm. Craig or prairie dog, Craig or prairie dog. What to do… Alas, I stayed the course, resisting temptation to see the world’s largest prairie dog. Guess that lifelong dream will have to wait.

 

I approached the hospital around 10:30; Jill met me outside with a big hug, and said how glad she was that I was there. We let out a big exhale and moved toward the hospital and Craig’s room. The “11^th floor” is the oncology unit and a place Craig has stayed probably more nights than his home over the last month. I was actually surprised and a little disappointed not to see a designated VIP room with a placard for him. Surely his frequent flyer miles have earned him a badge of some kind. I wonder if hospitals have punch cards where the tenth visit’s free. If so, ante up!!  

 

We opened the door. The only illumination was that of his IV stand and dimmer lights that hung low over the couch near a window with a panoramic view of Denver’s ‘burbs. There was a quiet hum from the medical equipment pumping him full of the needed antibiotics and nutrition. Craig lay in his bed clad in blue hospital jammies and appearing very small---half the stature that I remember and much paler that I’ve seen. Emily was by his side and his friend Writer sat on the couch. In a weak voice, Craig said heyyy and opened his eyes halfway to show the palest of blue eyes. I put down my stuff, made a silly joke and held his hand, trying to bite back tears all the while. No matter how well you prepare yourself, not enough imagination and scenario-playing in the world could prepare you for seeing your brother so very sick in such a short time. The sadness and anger welled in me faster than expected. It wasn’t a shock and awe experience, but he was quite incoherent, very uncomfortable, tired, zonked out, thin, you name it and that’s a stark difference to the energetic, quirky, colorful brother I know. Any shade of grey from that colorful person takes some adjustment. The nurse came in, biding time for me to come to terms with the image of my brother fighting cancer and this all too raw reality. Wish this wasn’t happening to him. Wish there was something more we could do. Until we find the magic answer, we’ll keep up with the laughter, the random stories, the cold cloths on his neck as he vomits, the interception of medical errors, and the hope for a better day with every day that passes. -- E