Every Thursday I look back at a specific day and time that was spent with my daughter Matilda as she waited for, received, and recovered from a liver transplant. She was in the hospital for 72 days and we remained in NYC until she turned four months old.

October 28th, 2012 - hungry

Tyler and I were both exhausted. We were both emotional. And we were both hungry. With everything that had happened that day, holding Matilda for the last time, and waiting for her procedures to conclude, we had forgotten to eat.

Food usually appeared for us at the hospital because so many friends and family members were kind enough to continue to send us meals on a regular basis. But as the city was shutting down in preparation for Sandy, so were restaurants and meal services.

Just as Tyler and I had come to peace with missing a few meals, one of Matilda's doctors walked in with a huge Costco-sized box of granola bars under her arm. She was the kind of doctor that didn't always come off to patients or even nurses in the right way. She was brusque, confident, and, at times, sarcastic.

But we got her, and we liked every bit of her. I would much rather have a doctor who is real, than someone who strives for perfection*. Because being perfect is sometimes taking the time to relax and see people for who they are. We were alone and scared. She couldn't offer us the certainty that everything was going to be okay, but she could offer us a snack and some company.

She sat in our room (which she said had the best atmosphere) and told us of her harrowing journey to Costco in the rain on her bike, to bring us some goodies while we waited the storm out. Who goes to Costco on their bike? In the rain? Dr. Satchell, that's who.

And we were thankful. Thankful to have some good food to tide us over. Thankful for company and laughter after a long day. And thankful for her kindness. She wasn't even on duty, just stopping by on her way home. She was sad to see Matilda had taken a turn for the worst, and assured us that she didn't live far away and would be back in a heartbeat if we needed her.

And we knew she was telling the truth. Which is why we appreciated her so much. We could be honest with her, she could be honest with us, and no one needed to sugarcoat or try to hard. And as it turned out, that night was one of the longest of our lives. So having those few moments of peace, knowing that our medical team thought about us on their down time, and having something in our bellies was important. It was so important.

And we were thankful.

* I am not taking about her doctoring skills. As far as skills, I always want my doctors striving for perfection. And she was as close as most humans can get. Brilliant and skilled, but also ready to look into finding the best options.

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