Waiting

Tomorrow comes. No need for an alarm clock, because Brisket thinks it is his duty to wake me at 7. Don’t know how he does it. Must be a dog thing. Izzy has always slept on the bed and her little warm body gives me some comfort. Get up. Walk the dogs. Feed the dogs. Then my needs are met: shower, apply make up, dress, gather my electronics and I am out the door once again. Armed with my notebook and pen…I am ready.

Finding an available parking space is a bitch. I cheat and use W’s handicap hanger. Hey…I have two artificial knees…I am kinda handicapped…and my mental state is not so great either. No guilt.

It must be a half mile at least to the PCU unit. I arrive. Enter the room and it’s as if I just pressed the pause button. Nothing is changed. W is asleep. IV’s still dripping. Dear God….help.

The freaking chair is so uncomfortable…so petty of me to be thinking of my comfort. But really? I wonder if any of those administrators ever had to sit in this chair? I busy myself with my notebook trying to recall what has happened the last few days. I begin using second person pronouns, so that when W reads it, it will make more sense to him. The writing calms me down. It gives me focus and allows me one simple thing to control…as the rest of my life appears to be totally out of my grasp. Kinda like the bumper cars at the amusement parks…except my car can’t bump into anything. I just drive around and…whap…I get hit…straighten up and whap again…a hit from another direction…whap…sideswiped, turned around, and out of control.

A male nurse enters the room and starts injecting stuff into his IV line. What’s going on? He mumbles that they will be bringing W to the “Bronch” lab to do a bronchoscopy…to remove more fluid from his lungs…I think. Brakes off and he’s wheeled out the door….in a flash he is gone. Maybe he will be better when he returns?

This place is so depressing. I get up and do a walkabout. It makes me more depressed. All these sick people…machines making noises. I try not to stare. Families, friends, loved ones, all showing signs of stress, anxiety, even grief. Shit. Where can I hide? I want to run away.

Back to the chair. Wait. Wait. 2 hours. 3 hours. 4 hours.

Finally W is wheeled back into the room…asleep. Wheels locked. Machines hooked up. IV dripping.

What just happened? Who can tell me? Doctor? Nurse? Someone? God…please…please…