Moving Day

Doctor says I can go out of the hospital with the requirement that I am not alone tonight. "You being alone would break our precedent," he explained. "It has been a pleasure working with you. You are an extraordinary patient. You have saved your insurance company a lot of money not using any pain meds." We shake hands. Will have to make it a slumber party tonight. "Who will be staying with you tonight?" the nurse asks. "Minnie Mouse," I answer. I could never, never be an engineer. I live by vision, not details. When Kathy LeClair gets here to accompany me on the shuttle, we will talk.

Nurses working on paper work.

I'm packing the room. I've been at the University of Washington Hospital for over a month. My return Washington Island Ferry ticket is pasted on the bathroom mirror. I take it down. The brightly colored pop pom bordered Mother's Day card from Kayla comes off the wall. Kayla's finger painted rainbow rendition gets peeled off the wall and rolled. Cards and letters from friends pull off from the tape backing. Walls start looking bare. My kayak paddle comes in handy as a scoop to pry off the 100 day calendar taped at the top of the wall. Like a wide blade pizza spatula, the paddle blade breaks free each calendar sheet so that I grab hold, pull down, carefully remove the tape, smooth out the page, stack and pack. The "Midnight Rainbow" ordination banner is unhooked from the wall and folded. The prayer quilt from the Sunbonnet Sues unpinned from the curtain in the doorway. The stain glass with the hummingbird reminding me that "Prayer Changes Things" is wrapped. My books, papers, knitting, meds........ The room empties. The bags fill.

Outside the window, seven floors down, I see a young man laying in the grass relaxing. One day maybe that will be me on a blanket since I can not touch the earth for a year. Thinking outside, even catching a glimpse is doing me good. A crow lands on my window sill. The big bird pauses, surveys the landscape and dives.