the hospital wait

sitting in the waiting room

during the designated “visiting hours”

means nothing to the loved one in

turmoil---

for while the reality of the person on the

bed in the cutting room

is more than enough to break down the human

psyche, taking one to the most primal edge of

sanity, just about to push them over the

brink,

the fact that the last words spoken to the one now being

operated on,

could’ve been the last,

spirals within & contorts relentlessly

any chance of getting a grip of the hour of the day,

the day of the week, what month it is, the year,

or just what will happen in a few moments---

the self-torture increases with each suited staff member who comes walking around the corner---

one wonders if the doctor in charge will be next &

with her/him will come words of refreshing calm

where “stable” will be repeated

instead of “critical”---

and there are the flashes of times past

that bring tears to the eyes &

there are moments one remembers of horrible cruelty

which make one stare down at their shoes

wishing that they themselves were in that room

being sliced open, rather than the loved one

whom in retrospect,

deserved not one iota of the emotions of those moments

that tattoo across the heart & mind,

never to be forgotten---

a hospital wait’s terrible trials & tribulations taking place inside

the loved ones forced to endure the dragging duration

for what seems like forever

is right up there with the most successful means of interrogation,

as the death of a loved one is so much more dramatic for us all

than our own demise,

the difference being that there isn’t anything to extract from ourselves

but a hope that things will be better

if our loved one pulls through.