31 for 21: #26 Soap

I can smell a hospital. I can. I can smell if you've been in one recently. I used to think it was the latex or the adhesives. It's not. It the soap.

When I smell hospital soap... I smell when Elise was born. I smell when she was in Cardiac Failure. I smell racing to and from the hospital and work at lunch break. I smell when she had Open Heart surgery. I smell when she was in the CICU. I smell seeing her have pink cheeks for the first time. I smell when she was admitted for the pre-cancerous low platelet condition, Thrombocytopenia. I smell ALLLL the bone marrow aspirations and blood draws. I smell the CAT scan just before we were told that the leukemia had finally presented. I smell the discussion with the oncologist about the chemo protocol. I smell all the chemo treatments. I smell learning to change her external port dressings. I smell nurses taking readings at 3 AM. I smell sleeping in a giant crib. I smell watching her take her first cruising steps in the hospital family room around that tan couch in her brand new tiny orthodic inserts. I smell posting her status on the computer while talking to other mothers on the treatment floor. I smell talking to a teenage boy who told me he couldn't sleep because he didn't feel like he had enough time. I smell asking a nurse where he was because I hadn't seen him...and hearing that he had been right...that he was gone... I smell talking to friends and learning that the chemo was no longer going to "buy" them any more time with their precious baby... I smell tears. I smell fear. I smell knowing that I didn't "deserve" extra time with my baby... I smell wondering why God had chosen my child to survive over another child. I smell hurting with others. I smell the port tubes being removed after she bit it beyond repair. I smell the balloon celebrating the end of chemo. I smell the panic when the doctors told us we didn't need to come for blood count checks every month. I smell the tonsil and adenoid-ectomies. I smell the ear tube placement surgery. I smell her teeth being handed to me in a plastic jar. I smell the sleep study. I smell worry. I smell holding my child down so she didn't have to have a stranger holding her down for procedures. I smell emergency room waiting rooms. I smell melancholy...wondering why we would be there next... I smell grace and others' loss... I smell exhaustion and loneliness. I smell thankfulness and compassion.

I feel old when I smell hospital soap. Like I've lived longer than the years the math says it's been...

When I smell hospital soap, I smell too much...