Up at 4:45 am, I showered, dressed, ate and was out the door by 5:20. A fine mist in the dark morning air necessitated a swipe of the wiper blades every few minutes. There were no other cars to wait for, follow or pass until I merged onto the interstate, headed towards Jacksonville. Even then, the cars and trucks were few and far between.
The hospital had scheduled her surgery for 7:30, and her prep was to begin at 7, so I was right on schedule to have a little time with her and her family before they took her from the room. There were virtually no radio stations working well. Finally I found an AM sports station that lasted for about half and hour, highlighting the rest of the football game I couldn’t stay awake for the night before. The miles passed quickly, and before I knew it, the exit for the hospital approached.
When I got out of the car in the parking lot, I immediately felt how much colder it was than back home. I had called ahead to find out when the front door would be open. “5 am.” “Thanks, that’s plenty early!” There were many cars in the parking lot and more people than I expected when I walked in about 6:20.
Stepping out onto the fourth floor of Mayo hospital, I had to double check the signs to find room 422. They saw me coming from down the hall, and knew exactly who I was looking for, because she was looking for me. They were taking her for prep at 6:30 and she grabbed my hand and said, “Quick, pray with me, I’m so glad someone came.” When we opened our eyes, they were waiting to transport her. She asked one man, “Are you awake?” He replied, “I just rolled out of bed.” Lots of laughter.
And then she was gone, gone to hopefully have a brain tumor removed. All that way for about 30 seconds with her and the Lord. What a privilege and an honor.