A Jon Post
Good mothers love their sons. Pedro’s mother is a good mother. When he got to the hospital 2 and a half months ago with his leg swollen and the skin splitting from the pressure she was by his side, without a thought. When he laughed she was near enough to hear his laughter; when he wept, she caught his tears.
So last week when he had surgery to remove his left leg she desperately wanted to hold his hand through it all.
He was wheeled out of the oncology ward at 6 AM on Wednesday and she was told he would be back when it was over. She was told she couldn’t go with him. So she sat in a chair in the hallway of oncology and waited.
For 8 hours.
When I got there, having known of his scheduled surgery I saw her and asked how he was. Her red and puffy eyes looked at mine and she told me she knew that he had left at 6 and that was all. She didn’t know where the operating room was; she didn’t know where the recovery room was; she didn’t know anything except that she had been told to wait for him to be brought back with only one leg.
I have visited a few other patients in the past who were pre or post-surgery over in the surgery ward so I offered to accompany her there and see if we could find him. She responded immediately with a hurried “yes” and rushed out of the ward, looking back to see if I had followed and if I could show her the way to the surgery ward. She even forgot her mobile phone in her rush and dashed back in to grab it so we could be on our way.
In the surgery ward we checked one wing… nothing. Another wing… nothing. A third and forth brought us no further in our search and no closer to Pedro. When a nurse in the fifth and final wing of the surgery ward suggested he might still be in the operating room Pedro’s mother immediately suggested we go find the operating block and see if we could find him.
I haven’t been there in the hospital and had no idea what building it was in but off we went, asking for direction from different hospital staff as we went.
We arrived at the surgery block’s entrance and in big, red, bold letters a sign made it clear that, under no circumstances were non-staff to enter those doors. Pedro’s mother clutched my arm and asked if I would try.
I shrugged… “Heck, I don’t know anyone in there” I thought, “What’s the worst that can happen? Someone yells at me and tells me to leave? That’s worth trying to help a mother find her son.”
So through those doors I went. Yep, someone yelled at me and told me to leave. I briefly explained that I was trying to help a mother find her son and a quick, “Go back out those doors and I’ll let you know if he’s here in a minute” was the response.
Well, 10 minutes outside those doors with no news I went back in. Pretty much the same result. I only waited 2 or 3 minutes this time and on my third attempt I found someone who stopped and listened to the plea of a desperate mother. He recognized Pedro’s name and actually knew about him. Pedro was still in surgery but was only minutes away from being done.
We waited.
We waited.
After 30 minutes of watching the doors for a stretcher to come out with Pedro on it his mother paused and looked at me.
“Did you hear that?” She asked.
“Hear what?” I replied.
“Pedro just yelled ‘Mother!’”
Through two stories of concrete and steel she could hear her son crying out for her. At first I was tempted to disbelieve that this supernatural hearing was real and was about to write it off as a mother who was hearing things.
But Pedro’s mother is a good mother.
Yes… she heard her son calling out to her. Mom’s can hear those things, even through 2 floors of hospital.
And 15 minutes later the doors opened and a stretcher with Pedro’s worn and tired body came rolling out. We followed the stretcher to the recovery room where I almost got us kicked out for trying to force them to allow her to spend the night with him and expressing my frustration a bit too candidly with the policy of not allowing her to come in and sit with her son.
Thursday, the next day she was able to visit him. She hadn’t slept the night before.
I saw them both the next day, him for just a few minutes, the last of the visiting hour allowed. His drawn face was smiling at his mother.
He has a long road still to travel and, though he only has one leg of his own to do it on, his mother’s two strong legs will suffice to carry him when they need to.
She’s a good mother.