This has been sent my way via email, via facebook, I've even gotten phone calls... it really is too bad that sky didn't find the jesus in the cheeto.

When I was pregnant with sky, back in 2003, we were living in berkeley after a year on kauai. She was my third baby, and after having two easy labors, I wanted to have her at home. We lived in what was practically a hippie commune, a small apartment complex built around a great playground, full of german post-doc families who had all had their babies right there in the building. Richard, Melvin, Janna - all born at home. We took turns making meals for the kids and eating at the picnic tables. Wyatt knew how to say train in german before he could say it in english. When it came down to it though, I couldn't get over the what if. What if something was wrong, and the ten minute ride to the hospital was too long? So I had her at Kaiser, after driving myself there in the middle of the night (wyatt was sick, so it had to be a solo mission). Her birth was easy, and she was fine. We went home the next day. And for the next 9 months, I fought the methicillan-resistant staph aureus I picked up in the maternity ward. Round after round of antibiotics, one of which even got to sky and caused her liver to stop working properly. Wyatt, who was one, picked it up from me. Then henry got it. Kaiser grossly overdosed the kids on one antibiotic, and I woke up to a pharmacist pounding on my door yelling that there had been a huge mistake. Every time I thought we had it beat, it came back. It wasn't until I went on something terribly toxic, close to a year later and living back on Oahu, that I finally stopped paying for not listening to my instincts and having sky at home.

So you can imagine how much I like hospitals. When my best friend had her baby, I just couldn't go. When I hit my head so hard that I couldn't remember getting through Kailua in the Dick Evans race, I talked my doctor into coming to me. When I finally had to go to make sure I hadn't had a stroke during the migraine madness that was november 2008, I threw away my slippers as soon as I got out the door, and tossed everything that had been worn in the hospital.

Today was my second visit to see john. When I went on Saturday, I was pretty blown away at my first sight of him. John is always, always fit. And always talking, animatedly, waving his arms around and laughing. And now he's lying on his back, with a collar forcing him to look at the ceiling. He can feel his legs (yea!) but can't yet move them. I would list what's broken, but it would be faster to list what's not. When I saw him Saturday, he was chatty and friendly, but pale and thin, newly buzzed, and adjusting to a new pain med. On Saturday, I went to the back of the elevator and said Eight, please, so that I wouldn't have to touch a button. I washed my shoes when I got home, in addition to all exposed skin. Today when I went in, John was twice as bright, twice as smiley, and seemed so much better. He's healing up and you can see it in his face.

And I pushed the button in the elevator (had to, it would have been a long solo wait for someone to come push it for me!) and did not throw away my shoes upon leaving.

I heard rumor he's an early bird like me, so I've got a 6:30 date at Queens tomorrow morning - with jambas of course, and this time I might even sit in a chair..