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nwhikerIt was the day before Christmas and the hospital was deserted. I sat in the surgical waiting room, newly remodelled, while my daughter was in surgery in the older under construction past of the building. I was alone. It was quiet.
I hadn't checked at what time they'd wheeled her away, already pre-medicated. They said it would be an hour. I didn't want every single extra minute beyond the allotted sixty to tell a terrifying story.
I know how time reacts to emotions. I know how it slows down and speeds up, becomes subjective, and unmeasurable, and yet I knew when that hour was coming to a close with every fibre in my body.
A long ways away, down that empty hallway, I heard the door to the operating area open and then shut. I heard steps.
My life stopped entirely until I saw the surgeon's smile.
I hadn't checked at what time they'd wheeled her away, already pre-medicated. They said it would be an hour. I didn't want every single extra minute beyond the allotted sixty to tell a terrifying story.
I know how time reacts to emotions. I know how it slows down and speeds up, becomes subjective, and unmeasurable, and yet I knew when that hour was coming to a close with every fibre in my body.
A long ways away, down that empty hallway, I heard the door to the operating area open and then shut. I heard steps.
My life stopped entirely until I saw the surgeon's smile.
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