It shaped up to be just another typical Tuesday. My wife had dropped me off at work about 7:00. I'd checked my calendar, taken the first pass through my e-mail, and was on my way to OB's cubicle to get my team leader's perspective on the topics of the day. When I arrived, he was in conversation with Jeff, who occupies the cubicle across the aisle. They were making plans to visit Marcus, who was in the hospital following surgery. He'd been diagnosed with lymphoma some time ago and undergone a course of chemotherapy. It had helped, but not enough, so the doctors had to go in. I didn't know all of the details, and I hadn't visited him yet, so I asked if I could go along with them. I was completely unaware of the adventure that awaited me. More than once, I had to remind myself that I had volunteered for the trip and had no one else to blame for the decidedly un-typical consequences.
OB and I had a meeting that was supposed to end around 11:30, and we planned to leave for the hospital right after. In what appeared to be a stroke of good luck, we got to start and end that meeting about half an hour early, reconnecting with Jeff a little after 11:00. We'd heard from another department member that Marcus might be going home that day, so Jeff called the hospital and received confirmation that Marcus was still on the premises. We secured our desks and strode confidently out of the building.
Jeff was clearly the captain of our little expedition. He was going to do the driving, he knew the hospital room number, and he had purchased a couple of gift items, which we didn't see until we were uncomfortably seated in Jeff's minivan. It's not that the seats were uncomfortable in themselves, but simply that they were surrounded by moist, 100-degree air. Southeastern Minnesota doesn't have "dry heat" and the sun had had several hours to do its work. Normally, such interior conditions are easily remedied, but this was Jeff's old minivan, possessed of inoperative air conditioning.
Jeff steered us out onto the highway to generate some airflow. OB was riding shotgun, and I was behind him. On the seat next to me were the two gifts for Marcus. They were guy-wrapped: surrounded on five sides by plastic shopping bag, but easily accessible. The first item was a jigsaw puzzle with a wide-screen view of downtown Chicago as seen from a point over Lake Michigan. The Sears Tower was on the left, the John Hancock Center was on the right, and Navy Pier was prominent in the foreground. Marcus had lived in an apartment right in this area, so it was a highly appropriate present as jigsaw puzzles go. The other item was a deluxe-format magazine covering the British Open. It had all the names, all the holes, and all the fun of being there without being there. Jeff had even printed out the whole TV schedule, with tee times for various players. Marcus, a big golf fan, was going to get plenty of time in front of the tube, and this was a pretty thoughtful gift. Both OB and I congratulated Jeff on his success in this area, and we were looking forward to Marcus' reaction.
By this time, we were also looking forward to less perspiration. Jeff took the new Civic Center Drive exit off of U.S. Highway 52, maneuvered through the mid-day traffic downtown and parked in the Graham Ramp. The medical facilities in downtown Rochester are connected by an extensive pedestrian subway system, which we decided to take advantage of. We rode the ramp elevator down to the subway level and tried to follow the signs to "Rochester Methodist".
As you might expect, a pedestrian subway doesn't have high, vaulted ceilings. This is unfortunate because OB has a high, vaulted head. As we passed under the street, we were glad we were near a hospital because OB stood a good chance of rendering himself unconscious on low-hanging light fixtures. We managed to avoid mishap and arrived in the Charlton building. We hung a left and proceeded toward "Rochester Methodist", suddenly finding ourselves in the Eisenberg building.
It was at this point that our confidence in our captain began to waver. Jeff, OB, and I have lived in Rochester for a total of sixty-some years, and have done our share of hospital visits, but none of us was completely sure that the Eisenberg building was "Rochester Methodist". Jeff, however, asserted that this must be the right place. As I said, OB and I weren't fully confident, but we also knew that Jeff was generally trustworthy. We boarded an elevator bound for the sixth floor.
Our uncertainty began to fade when the receptionist there had no difficulty giving directions to room 6-404, even though I pessimistically observed that many of the medical buildings had sixth floors and the same numbering system. We were able to follow the receptionist's directions and the hallway signs through a series of rights and lefts, emerging into a pod-arranged area. We saw 6-404 beyond the nurse's desk and were proceeding toward it when a nurse asked what we were looking for. We said, "Room 6-404". She looked in the room, told us it was still being cleaned, and that we should go to the waiting area.
As we started back through the maze, our doubts begin to increase. Why was the room being cleaned if Marcus was still in it? Still, the three of us are all in successful, long-term marriages and are accustomed to doing as we're told, so we took seats around a table in the designated waiting area. On the table were two completed jigsaw puzzles. As we waited, we appreciated the sixth-floor view, fidgeted with the puzzles, and grew increasingly nervous. Twice, a nurse came back asking after visitors for people we never heard of. After ten or fifteen minutes, the argument started.
"Why don't you go back and ask?"
"No, I'm fine waiting, why don't *you* go back and see what's going on?"
"Hey, I'm just along for the ride. You're the one who said this was the right place."
"It has to be the right place. It hasn't been that long. We can wait."
And so it went for about five minutes. Finally, OB and I convinced Jeff that we really weren't going to move until he moved. He went back by himself and returned a few moments later, wearing an odd expression. Apparently, there was no one in room 6-404 when we had arrived, Marcus had already checked out, and we'd been sitting around being too scared to demonstrate our ignorance. Oh, how we laughed.
After we stopped laughing, Jeff called Marcus' house. I heard Jeff say "Hello, is Marcus there? Oh, you *are* Marcus!" Jeff told him we were at the hospital, but that he wasn't, which he already knew. Marcus said he'd only been home about ten minutes, but we were welcome to come over to his house.
As best we were able to reconstruct the situation, Marcus was still at the hospital when Jeff called from work and he must have left just as we were arriving. Someone else must have been scheduled to go into room 6-404 and the nurse who told us to wait must have thought we were there for that person. It occurred to us that all of our requests since arriving at the hospital had been for the room number and that we hadn't mentioned any names. Oh, how we laughed again.
We trekked back to the elevators, rode down to the subway, hiked through the tunnels, and piled back into the still-warm minivan. There was a bit of a line to get out of the ramp. As we were waiting, we saw the pay booth's digital clock turn over to noon. Just as we pulled up to pay, there was an attendant shift change, performed so flawlessly that there was no significant delay in service. The irony of such a smooth transition juxtaposed against our own little comedy of errors was overwhelming.
As we pulled out of the ramp, having paid two dollars to park somewhere we didn't need to be, we were almost swiped by another car zooming around the nearby corner. We were beginning to feel somewhat persecuted. We slowly made our way back across town on 2nd Street with the extra long delay getting across the new bridge construction over Highway 52.
As we sat at the stop light, the van got pretty well warmed up and we noticed another ironic circumstance. In the construction zone next to us, two workers were sitting in the middle of a wide, sandy area. They didn't seem to be doing anything but having a pleasant lunchtime conversation. They were sitting right down on the sand, legs crossed, near a small aluminum pail with a shovel handle sticking out of it. It was as if they were just two young kids playing builders at the beach. That they were able to relax like that on a hot stretch of sand in full construction regalia with all the traffic passing by stood in sharp contrast to the sweaty, chaotic ordeal we were undergoing.
The next challenge was in remembering where to turn off 2nd Street to get to Marcus' house. Jeff and I had been there only once, just after Marcus was first diagnosed. Jeff did finally remember, but only about 20 feet before he had to turn. We were all subjected to high-G forces, and still aren't sure all four wheels remained in contact with the pavement, but we made the turn.
After a short trip up a hill, we pulled into Marcus' driveway. As I got out of the car, I experienced a bit of light-headedness. I attributed this to the over-warm minivan, the high-G turn, and the fact it was an hour past my usual lunchtime. Even as we walked up to the door, we weren't sure we had the right house, our confidence having been almost completely eroded by our previous experiences. There was a great sense of relief when Marcus answered the door.
We had a pleasant little time with Marcus. The house was nice and cool, and Marcus himself looked a lot better than you'd expect, having just come out of the hospital. He had a bit of a beard going, and was moving rather slowly, but was quite cheerful once he was able to lie back down on the couch and talk with us. He explained that the doctors had removed his entire large intestine, including a baseball-sized tumor. He felt fortunate that the procedure had gone well and that he was recovering relatively quickly. He knew he had some challenges ahead, but also knew that many people had faced those same challenges and lived long, full lives. He really appreciated the puzzle ands he was able to point to his old apartment building in the picture. He was sure the magazine would come in handy, too. His attitude was completely upbeat, expressing an eagerness to get back to doing some useful work for the department. For the third time in half-an-hour, I was struck by the irony of the situation. Even as we were face-to-face with the pain and difficulties Marcus was going through, we were experiencing the best time of our trip so far.
After about a fifteen minute visit, we said our goodbyes, but getting back to the office was not quite a pleasant experience. The van was still quite warm as we left. Jeff attempted to help me out by turning the fan on high. I made some nasty remark about a North African sirocco and he turned it off. I suppose you could cool yourself off with a hot blow dryer, too, if you were wet enough, but I wasn't. Surprisingly, we had no difficulty getting back on Highway 52 and getting back to the office.
As we re-entered the building, OB commented that someone had to write up a "Marcus Update" to share with the rest of the department, as others had done before us. After another little argument ("I think you should ... No, I think it would be best if you did ... "), I agreed to take on the task. As I ate my much-delayed lunch, I composed a version of the events that you've just waded through. And, wouldn't you know it? After that, it shaped up to be just another typical Tuesday.