This post is not about my daughter in the hospital.

We started doing the summer tours for several reasons. To go to conventions and connect with clients and fans. But mostly, to travel, and explore our great nation with our two artistic daughters. We have been enjoying learning through visits to the landmarks (Mt Rushmore, Statue of Liberty), but I believe that to really learn about your country, is to explore the local culture as well.

So, we try to go off the beaten path – trying local foods, visiting local markets, learning about the local wildlife. This partifular summer trip has allowed us a view into an aspect of our nation and culture, and even our very human nature, which I would like to share with you.

We hiked in Banff, and Katheryn (6) pulled a muscle in her leg. In the 10 days between there and Origins (Columbus, Oh), it got slowly better, and then took a dramatic (and excrutiating) turn for the worse. She ended up admitted for the last six days at Nationwide Children’s Hospital in Columbus Ohio with a Staph infection deep in her pelvis. Narrowly avoiding surgery, she is on the mend, and due to be released today. Things could have gone much more seriously, and we are grateful that all went a well as it could have. But this post isn’t about her. This post is about our experience dipping below the surface, and peering into a world that hopefully many of you will never see.

I have met many very strong people in my week here. I have also discovered a support community that is truly amazing to behold. And what is truly amazing to me, is how that support system does all that it possibly can to take away the inconvenience of thinking of anything but the welfare of your child. There is a room in on the first floor call the Blue Jay Room (or the Blue Room), where you are gently encouraged to go 24/7 as a private, family only place. It is a tv room, computer lab, laundromat (gratis), snack area, shower and workout facility all in one area. You can even sign up for a free massage. There is a library to research your childs ailment. You can go next door to the cafeteria and receive any beverage for free. Even the inconvenience of paying for coffee or hot chocolate is lifted. Everything is designed to let you focus on your child. E

ach time you peek your head from the room – the staff immediately asks if they can get something for you, and next, they ask about for your child. The hospital focuses not only on the welfare of the child, but on what they can do to make your own stay less painful. As one volunteer told me “we just wish that we could do more”.

Our first day here, we were encouraged to stay at the Ronald McDonald house across the street. To me, the RMH has always been that little box in front of the cash register where you pick up your hamburger. It’s a place where the parents with kids with cancer stay. It’s for people who can’t afford a hotel (so I always thought), It’s…well, it’s nowhere I’ll ever have to visit. Could we have stayed somewhere else? Sure, I suppose that we could have. But, honestly, I was curious to find out more about it – to experience it, so that I could share it with all of you. And then next time you drop your orphaned nickel in the box, you understand what exactly it’s going to.

In effect, it’s a hostel. A large, clean, friendly hostel – with a front desk full of helpful smiling volunteers, and a dining area full of late night parents gathering together over coffee to commiserate, seek comfort, share stories, and perhaps play games. Today they are offering free haircuts (one less thing to worry about). Last night I spent an hour helping prepare dinner (baking cookies for 150 people). The room is clean. The linen closet is stocked with two meticulously placed bags of assorted toiletries donated from a variety of hotels, and various brands of tp. Everyone pitches in to do their part.

Some people have been there for weeks, or even months. I’ve met some amazing people since I’ve been here. The first day, in the cafeteria I met Joey and his grandmother. Joey drowned 8 weeks ago, down for ten minutes until his lungs were stiff and his organs were shutting down. His grandmother was giddy to show him off – giggling, laughing, trying to steal her soda, and throwing his socks on the floor. Joey is two. I met the cousin of a boy upstairs who had crawled under a car, and been run over completely by a car. He was also two. On the way up to the room, I met Madaline, who was excited that she was old enough to go to the sibling playroom (she had been coming here to visit her brother since she was born).

On that first day, I saw a man with a parent badge, dressed in pajamas. I ran into him today (five days later) in the same pajamas, in the elevator. He was on his way to NICU – and commented that his daughter (born Thursday) had had two surgeries, and he (being 26) had only ever had one.

Last night at crafts, we met a boy whose car had been hit by a Hummer, and had his head smashed in (pray4trey.com), but he’s recovering use of the left side of his body, and mom is thrilled! The other little girl’s father had accidentally run her over with the lawnmower. She had lost some toes, and most of the muscles in her thigh, but they had given her a skin graft that very day. Luckily it had narrowly missed her femoral artery. Her father had thought that the mover stalled, and it took weeks of therapy to convince the four year old that her father had not done it on purpose.

There are folks of all ethnicities here, worried for their loved ones. Indian, African, a lovely Amish family with cute children. But all are treated well, and offered comforts to take away the worry. Books, movies, activities. Would you like a massage, a haircut? Let us take the sibling for a while, into the playroom. It is easy to think that all human caring and consideration for others is extinct, in this day and age, where everything is so Me, Me, Me.

I’m thankful that my eldest daughter was able to learn about the familys who live in this pocket of the universe – waiting on tests, hoping, praying, and to meet the people helping them to get through it. I am thankful that we were fortunate enough to be passing through, and happily discharged today to move on with our lives. And I wish the best to Trey, in physical therapy, and the other kids here (some who may never leave). It reminds you to worry less about the little things, and be happy for what you have.

And I’m hoping that next time you are ordering a burger at McDonalds, and have a handful of change, that you drop it in that little box in front of the register – and know that it is not being squandered, but instead, that you are doing your part to take away a little pain and worry from another human being.

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