Visiting Jan During COVID
Estimated reading time: 7 minutes, 32 seconds
We Kiss After a Month Apart
“It is so good to hear your voice,” Jan said as I stood in the hospital’s lobby, dropping off lunch. “I have good news. Dr. Strair said you can come to visit me tomorrow.” I am sure she said more, but between our mutual tears and the ambient noise of the hospital, all I could say and hear were a crescendo of mutual love messages.
Except for three days, she had been in the hospital for a month.
I drove to New Brunswick to drop off food and clean clothes daily. I would call to let her know I had made the delivery each time. Because Jan had COVID, the lobby was as close as I was allowed.
Along with calls every evening and text message, these brief calls became our only lifeline.
Most were brief and exacerbated our mutual loneliness and anxiety. Today’s call was the first that gave us hope.
I can’t wait to see you,” my voice was so loud I was sure she could hear me without her iPhone.
“Me too; bring enough lunch for both of us.”
We discussed options and agreed on what we would have for lunch.
“I have to go. The nurses are doing vitals.”
I placed my iPhone in my pocket and danced out of the hospital.
I texted the boys and their partners when I got to Jan’s car.
When I dropped off lunch today, Jan had exciting news. I have been approved to visit her tomorrow. We are both delighted 😃 to be able to see each other!
March 17, 2021, 11:48 am
Hope Springs Eternal
Arriving home, I race thru the house, ensuring everything is in order. In the month she has been in the hospital, I have only used the kitchen and the spare bedroom. My footprint has shrunken to the smallest possible space. Yet, I am worried that if she came home, something might be amiss.
Then I remind myself that she is not coming home. I can visit her tomorrow, but her discharge date remains undetermined.
A buzzing noise arouses me from chores. Is it a bee in the house?
No, my iPhone is ringing.
“Dr. Strair, how are you?”
I understand you will be visiting Janice tomorrow.
“Yes, I am. Thank you for making it possible for me to visit my wife.”
I was worried about her mental health. I knew you were the only one who could cheer her up.”
I want to tell him how worried I have been about Jan. I love her; I need her; I can’t lose her.
“I will do my best….” I can’t finish the sentence. Tears filled my throat, and the water washed against my molars.
“I understand. I will be visiting with the two of you in the afternoon. I believe we have found something in Janice’s blood work that might be her lucky break.”
I want to ask, but will it ruin her chances?
Can you share anything with me now,” I ask despite my fears.
“I should be able to share more tomorrow. But Janice’s pathology report indicated that she had an expression of CD30, which is very treatable.”
“Thank you. My wife needs a lucky break.”
Tears formed in my throat like I had swallowed all the ocean water.
After almost 48 years, I recently lost my wife, Jan Lilien. Like The Little Prince, Jan and I believed that “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” This blog is a collection of my random thoughts on love, grief, life, and all things considered.
