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Journal 2
Page 1 • 2

December, 2005
The Man with the Ring

This was my third waiting room experience of the year (see below for the other, much happier visits). I was in a dermatology outpatient clinic, just north of Columbus, having some minor surgery. It was to be an all-day appointment so, as usual, I brought a supply of books, story notes, snacks, pencils and pens in my gym bag. And I was looking forward to some quiet time in the waiting room where I could think out some projects I was involved in at the time.

After my first round with the doctor, I went back to the waiting room which was rather small, on the corner of the building, with only a couple of chairs and couches. There was another gentleman there, who, I guessed, was waiting for his wife. He was probably in his mid to late 70's, a big man with big hands.

I had no sooner got settled and took out my notes, when I heard a whistling sound, not the wind whipping around the building but a jarring, unsettling invasion of my ear space.

Now, you have to understand, that I am very sensitive to noises, especially if I am trying to think or read. A barking dog will drive me to distraction. A working fingernail clippers will send me packing. Anyone popping gum will get my deepest stare. And, whistling? You get the picture.

I'm thinking: "How can I handle this? I have a whole day to try and relax here and now this!" He was whistling softly, but in this room, it was as if he were doing it into a microphone.

Then I noticed the ring. On his right hand he had the biggest ring I'd ever seen. Chunks of gold were expertly fused together with an enormous gem mounted on the top. I was intrigued. Finally, I couldn't resist.

"If you don't mind my asking, there must be a story behind that ring!" He smiled and seemed delighted to tell me his story. "The government sent me to Sir Lanka during the War," he said. "I worked on their distribution systems, and the Sri Lankans gave this to me as a gift. Look, that's a star sapphire. They mine them down there."

"Do you mind if I look at it?"

He took off the ring and passed it over to me. I had always wanted to see a star sapphire up close.

After I'd examined the ring and tried it on, I gave it back with one of my cards. "If you ever get tired of it, give me a call," I said and we both had a chuckle.

Fortunately, he didn't care to take all my time. Soon we both went back to our own pursuits--I to my books and he, well, he began to softly whistle again. Only this time he sounded like a meadowlark.

October 19, 2005
Our Little Sweetheart

This was our second visit to a maternity ward in six months, so I came to St. Ann's Hospital prepared, with books, story notes, my own magazines, camcorder, cell phone etc.

During the day I got to talk to a couple of expectant fathers in the waiting room and watched TV for awhile. As we got into the evening hours, the waiting room started to empty, and I found myself pretty much alone. I turned off the TV and it was peaceful. Leah's labor was going slowly, but intensifying, so I stopped my visits to her room, and waited outside.

As the hours wore on, I walked around the waiting room and into the hall, visited the vending machines, all the while rehearsing a story I was to present in a few days. I went back to my chair, smelled the aroma of cafeteria food as the nurses started bringing up food trays for their mid-shift break. As the clock neared 2 a.m., and after nine hours in the waiting room, I heard a name which startled me out of my drowsiness: Dr. Albert Hart! He was the doctor who delivered Matt, and I couldn't believe my ears when I heard a nurse mention his name. I found it hard to believe that he was still delivering babies and that he would be here, in a different hospital, on this very night.

After I confirmed that indeed was he, I said, "Please tell him that the little boy he delivered 32 years ago is about to have his own first child in room 206, and could he please stop by?"

Of course he did, as pleasant and comforting as he was in 1973. What an experience to see him again, after all these years, sharing our joy.

April 7, 2005
A Drew Story

I hadn't been in a hospital in a long time. When our daughter Maura was admitted to Columbus' Mt. Carmel East Hospital for the birth of our first grandchild, and we were getting ready to leave, I thought of, among other things, my shoes. "I really
should wear my dress shoes," I thought, "I'm sure they would frown on sneakers."

We arrived at 7:00 a.m. on April 7th and I spent the next eleven hours observing life in the waiting room. I saw every type of shoe imaginable: sneakers, sandals, flip-flops and boots. Other clothing caught my eye: camos, knit caps, ball caps, head bands, t-shirts drooping to the knees. You name it.

I brought my cell phone but thought for sure I'd see signs restricting their use. Instead, I found cell phones everywhere: people ate with them and walked with them. I was no different. Matt had to be kept informed as events unfolded.

I didn't stay the full eleven hours in one spot. I was in and out, through the buzzer security system, into Maura's room to see how things were going. The waiting room itself was like the ebb and flow of the ocean tide. First one family was there for awhile; then they'd be replaced by another and on and on. Busy. It was interesting to see how the new babies were announced, through the suddenly-opened door that connected to the delivery rooms, and on the pay phone. The excitement and exhilaration in voices. And the tension: at one point a mother rushed in with her about-due daughter, in a wheelchair, and several minutes later another daughter who had come along was on her cell phone to the boyfriend: "Michael, get your butt over here!"

I was amazed by the number of people who brought laptops., playing the time away with video games. A TV with preprogrammed shows buzzed in the background. I got a little reading done on my novel. I outlined a few stories I'd like to try someday. Finally, I went and got a copy of the newspaper. When I was finished I left it in the waiting room since reading material was a little scarce. Next day I thought, " I should have saved that paper as a record of what was happening in the world on this momentous day." I went back and found it, battered, but still intact. The waiting room was different, though, eerily quiet.

I enjoyed chatting with the in-laws as we waited, took a little footage with my camcorder, and walked down to get something to eat now and then. The hospital's new maternity wing is nicely laid out with artwork, sculpture, and landscaping to make it pleasant on the eyes (and nerves).

Finally at 4:53 that afternoon, while Mary Jo and Chad's mother Susan were helping Maura, and I waited next door, 8 lb. 8oz. Drew Michael VanderVeen came kicking into this world. What a miracle! The inexorable push of life! Thanks to a good medical team, mother and son were fine almost immediately. I couldn't believe how quickly new babies are now held and cuddled. Within minutes, little Drew was grasping my finger as if to say, "Let's go! I've got Myers blood in me and we have work to do!"

As I watched the nurses, doctors and aides working together in such a big building, nostalgia set in. I remember when I was part of a large team, in the Whitehall City Schools. Now I'm retired and on my own.

The nurses deserve what they get and more. They must do their job while tending to family visitors too, balancing firmness with flexibility, all the while trying to be pleasant. They are the difference-makers.

I saw the tremendous set of services a modern hospital provides, and I now understand why hospitals have to charge what they do.

As it was time to pack up and leave for the day, we stopped to chat with some of the other new grandparents that I'd gotten to know during the long day. There is a joy between new grandparents that is very special. As they say, the one place in a hospital where you'll always find smiles is on the maternity floor.

December, 2004
An Old-fashioned "Shiver-ee"

Like the pioneers, we fought the elements over Christmas. It all began on the 23rd, about 2:00 a.m., when we were awakened by the wind howling and limbs, encased in ice, cracking and falling around our property. When the power went out, I knew we would be in for the long haul.

I'm a former Boy Scout and I like to "be prepared." So I quickly inventoried our flashlights and candles and pulled out the most important tool that would get us through the next five days, a machine flown down by the angels, my Honda generator.Unlike many who had to flee to their relatives to stay warm, we were able to stay in our home because of this electricity-maker.

Hooked directly to our furnace, the generator enabled us to have heat, at least on and off, for the duration. Two lines ran out of the generator: one went downstairs which I'd alternate between the furnace and freezer, a few hours for each. The upstairs line alternated between the pond pump, the TV and a table lamp. We strung one of our lines across the street to help a neighbor keep warm the first night, until he was able to make it on his own.

My senses were heightened. The noise from our generator, placed under the opened garage door, and the other generators thumping down our abandoned street added a surreal touch. I never realized how welcome light can be. Our reading lamp at night was a godsend; and in the morning, how special it was when the sun rose and lit up the house!

On Christmas eve we were still able to cook a meal on our gas stove and hold a fun-filled family party by candlelight and fireplace. On Christmas morning, the shih tzus, warm in their knit sweaters, were on the couch, while the temperature outside plummeted to sub-zero. Here are some things I learned about the cold and how to deal with it: 1) Bundled up with coat, hat, and gloves, one can withstand freezing temperatures in the house for about two hours. 2) Heat isn't needed overnight. 3) A lit candle in a small inside room, such as a half bath, will not only light the room, but heat it comfortably too. 4) The TV was good for our morale, as was turning on our Christmas tree occasionally.

Sitting around the fire, we had visions of being back in the log cabin of one of our ancestors; but the Tsunami that hit on Dec. 26, in the midst of our ordeal, put everything in perspective. Who were we to complain?