"This hospital blows!"

That was the text Laura sent me in reply to my text about circling the Kaiser Oakland parking garage for 20 minutes, hoping a spot would open up. The ancient parking structure has 5 levels, one building goes up, you cross on the roof, then another building takes you down. If you don't find a spot you get to do it all again. It's sad to think that there are so many people in the hospital that parking can't easily be found, but it's February and alot of oldsters get sick. They pilot their 70s-era Buicks around the tight corners, made all the more unnavigable by re-design, re-striping and putting up barriers to cram even more parking spaces in. It takes your average octogenarian about 5 minute to get in their car and back out, while a string of a dozen cars wait for a spot. It was difficult to park when we first started visiting, but this week it was nearly impossible. Laura texted me that Millie kept pointing at the clock in silent query, "Where the heck is daddy?!?!?" My parents and I finally exited the garage and drove the two blocks to the Mosswood Kaiser facility (where Millie's oncology clinic is) and used the valet there. When the attendant asked what floor we were going to we stammered, "Oh we're going to the hospital." He replied, "This isn't the hospital." D'oh! Long pause, we all exchange glances, and finally I manage, "Oh, the clinic is on the 14th floor, right?" My mom: "Oh, right... 14th floor." Knowing glance from the attendant. "Okay, here's your ticket." Whew! Close one! Hey c'mon it's all Kaiser, right? What a freeking nightmare... but we all had a good chuckle about it when we gained our freedom.

So for those of you who may be concerned about Laura's state of mind after that angry post, please rest assured that on our visit we found mama and Millie in great spirits. We arrived just in time for mama to skip out for an hour-long yoga session which seemed to refresh her, and Millie was as cute and vivacious as ever, all smiles for daddy, especially if she gets to abuse me with her favorite tactics: a tweak of my nose, or if I happen to be facing away, a roundhouse slap on my behind. I brought her some of her favorite white food freshly prepared at home that morning, and she devoured 4 hardboiled eggs (whites only) and a few large chunks of roasted cauliflower (I cooked two whole heads this time - it goes so quickly). So apparently nausea/appetite doesn't seem to be an issue.

Millie made five beautiful valentine paintings (she's becoming quite accomplished!) with Oma in the art room while Laura, Opa and I ran for Greek takeout on Piedmont Ave. Delicious gyros with garlicky tzatziki were consumed by the four us in the visitors' lounge (recently filled nearly to capacity most of the week with the multiple-generational and very worried Latino family of a youngster in the ICU next door) while Millie gobbled up an entire side order of pita bread.

So despite the crowding, the inconvenience, and the just plain Orwellian austerity inherent in extended hospital stays (what hospital is pleasant, I ask? even California Pacific in SF where Griffin was born, was drab, clinical and alienating), they seem to have adjusted. A good night's sleep helps, and and Laura finally got the nurse to do the job she was doing of being diligent about Millie using the potty during the night (after all, chemo pee is highly toxic) and was able to sleep through most of the night. I'll admit that despite the surroundings, I'm quite impressed with the entire staff. Nurses are the angels of our society. Millie's not nearly as put off by the environment as mama is - she's even given in and made friends with precocious Vanessa, her roommate.

They've lifted the ban on children under 14 as visitors, so Griffin's absolutely stoked to come with me to bring the ladies home tomorrow. And we've arranged for a date night on Mardi Gras Tuesday when we hope to "couple date" with the Joneses at Central Market restaurant where chef Tony, a native New Orleanian, will prepare a special menu, then finally see Avatar before it disappears from the big screen. Little pockets of life as normal make all of this much easier, as do friends, and the resiliency of our little superhero Millie.

About the above photo, Laura says: "She went to each door and touched it with her wand. A woman with a sick baby in her arms was in the hall, Millie touched the baby and the woman to give them love. In the playroom Millie removed the pieces of the wooden puzzles to spread surprise love and then put them back, so the children playing with the puzzle would receive the love."