“Waiting for . . . the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No. . . just waiting.” From Dr. Suess’ Oh, The Places You’ll Go
Terrifyingly,
she lost consciousness
in my arms and I
thank any and all
gods attending us —
for our Nurse Practitioner friend,
(now family)
reviving her, and
for Gigi
(also now family)
who had the presence of mind and
free hands to
call 911, and
for the paramedics
who arrived in minutes,
Amen.
They took her away
for her second ambulance ride
in as many weeks, and
thus began the waiting,
the longest day of my life.
Tears were cried,
hugs were given, and
received,
more prayers were prayed,
calls were made,
and we waited.
Six am until ten pm on that
longest day’s ever night
for a conversation
with the doctor —
any doctor —
for news on my girl.
She was
so
very
very
sick,
the doctor said, and
thank goodness
they had her
right where she needed to be,
back in a hospital bed with
tubes going in, and
PICC lines coming out,
for the myriad medicines going in.
They said she would be
staying
for a long
long while —
for this infection
consuming her lungs,
was waiting, too.
We can play
(and win)
the waiting game,
we cried,
hunkered down
for a long
winter’s month —
warming up
phone lines,
facetimes,
and bowls of soup
between us —
the distance always too far
for our waiting hearts.
Days and nights
became weeks
waiting
for the medicines
to work,
for the chest tube
to drain,
for the doctor’s calls
to be non-emergent,
for the hospital
to let me in,
for my tears
to stop,
for my fear
to dissolve,
for our nightmare
to be a bad dream,
for permission
to go home.
The waiting
ended
(finally) and
we drove away,
leaving the waiting,
(impossible to see)
behind us,
packed to the roof,
as we were,
with living.