Hospital numero...

7:11 pm

I'm sitting outside the reception of the resort we're staying at.
And I'm terrified.
Sheldon was just taken to hospital in an ambulance.
I feel numb.
It's probably nothing.
It's probably just dehydration and fatigue.
It's probably all going to be fine.
But I'm terrified.
I'm waiting for a friend of my sister. She lives locally and its rushing over to watch the boys for me while I go to the hospital.
It's probably nothing.
But this is a terrible terrible feeling.

11:22 pm

Another hospital chair.
I'm good at finding the warm blankets to wrap around my shoulders (emergency is freezing)
I'm an old hand at monitoring the BP and heart rate... the beeps are no longer a bother.
They are just there.
I know when to talk and ask questions and when to slip out in search of a cup of tea in a polystyrene cup.

This is nothing new.
It's just.. another hospital.
We're at the Gold Coast university hospital tonight.
It's brand new.
And yet it's exactly like any other hospital I've sat and paced and waited in.

There is one glaring difference.
The doctors and nurses are effected by the one word that needed to be uttered. Terminal.
That changes things.
The care is softer.
They move us to a quiet, warm room in the acute section of emergency. The kind doctor prefaces his conversations with a sincere reassurance that he will listen to our wishes.

X rays and blood tests.
Two bags of fluid.
His heart rate is fine as long as he lays down.
As soon as he stands it sky rockets.

The doctor thinks it might be the start of an infection.
He tip toes around the next part.
He thinks its wise to call the holiday done for now and get Sheldon on a plane.
He wants us to say it.
So I do.
I say that being admitted into the Gold Coast hospital is not a part of our palliative care plan.
I say that we need to get Sheldon home. To rest and kick any infection that might be lurking.
I say this and I hear the words. The calm,  detached way they roll of my tongue.
The doctors nods and smiles kindly. Exactly,  he says.
Go home.

7:56 am Tuesday

The weather has changed.
Grey skies and a subtle chill in the air.
It's ridiculous I know, but this weather shift makes the process of packing up and heading home easier.
Our beach days have been the perfect remedy for what ails us. We have reveled in the moments of being here. Of being able to push back the burdens and to live like cancer isn't around. The unwanted holiday guest.
Last night the kind doctor smiled as he told us to just take this one day at a time.
My mum used to sing a song.
You might have heard it. It's an oldie.

"One day at a time sweet Jesus. That's all I'm asking of you.
Give me the strength to do everyday what I have to do.
Yesterday's gone sweet Jesus and tomorrow may never be mine.
So for my sake
Teach me to take
One day at a time"

We haven't given up on our next holiday plans.
We'll just head home for now.
To rest.
To let Sheldon have his lounge chair and the Foxtel remote.
To hit any possible infection with antibiotics.
And after we take each day at a time I'm sure one day will be the start of the next great holiday adventure.

One day.