The nurse in the OR got our humor but the surgeon — not so much.  He cranked his head around and drew his brow together and I shushed Ellen, who had launched into a monologue about not paralyzing Jerry during surgery.

I could almost feel the doctor’s shudders from three feet away.

Now I’m in the Family Waiting room.  A female Catholic chaplain prayed over Jerry before they wheeled him into the surgery suite.  She didn’t disclose her religious affiliation until after the fact.  Ellen hastily told her that they were Presbyterian and, moreover, that Jerry had been a Jehovah’s Witness.

The woman took it all in stride.

An older lady had been sleeping but now she huddles over a cell phone, texting or something.  Ellen has gone out to the car for Ibuprofen and I’ve answered all my e-mail.  There’s a calm about this place.  Earlier we said, No, it’s okay he didn’t transfer to KU, and Ellen told someone on the phone that she felt God put Jerry here for the surgery.  It’s a Christian place, she said, by way of explanation.

It’s the seventh day of the twenty-eighth month of My Year Without Complaining.  I cannot truthfully say that a divine being is or is not more likely to be in this hospital because of its Christian affiliation.  But I have no sense of dread, despite the fact that a few minutes ago, a nurse came out and told me that they’ve started putting hardware in Jerry’s spine.  The television plays in the background, above a little group of family members talking about what to order for those waiting at home.  Once in a while, someone in scrubs comes in with a bit of news.  We wait.  Life continues.

Facing the camera, Jerry Stewart; and beside him, Ellen Carnie.