Tomorrow and Today

Close your eyes and imagine you're sitting in a hospital waiting room. How are you feeling? Are you nervous? This morning, I was going through a stack of papers on my desk when I came across a wrinkled sheet from an old notepad. At the very top I had scribbled, "One hour in the hospital is like a full day anyplace else." The remainder of the page was filled with observations I jotted down while my 12 year old son John was in an intensive care unit for so many days I lost track. There was just a continuous clock that never ended. Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick I feel tired. For many years I have spoken with scared families camped out in the pale waiting rooms of hospitals, surrounded by blankets, empty drink containers, and the taste of  hideous stale odours that never leave my tongue. At times it looked just as a war zone would after all the battle.  I tend to associate hospital waiting rooms with the aroma of fresh coffee and disinfectant. Suddenly I heard my name being called and my heart beats hard like a drum in a marching band. My stomach sunk, the room started spinning and all I could hear are muffled echoes in the halls of painful cries from other families. They could only say one thing. He won’t make it. My baby boy will not graduate, become a engineer, or even dance at his wedding. In that very moment all I wanted more than my son to be healthy was to scream. However I just stood there deep in my thoughts and looked around the waiting room. Families from all over simply bowed their heads. The important yet difficult decision still waits for me as I enter his dark, grim room. Even the bright blue curtains couldn’t cheer me up today. Softly the doctor whispers "have you come up with a decision?" It shot through my ear and I think do I let him go or should I keep waiting? The problem with waiting is it may never end. So I tell them 'pull the foul plug."  Close your eyes and imagine you're sitting in a hospital waiting room. How are you feeling? Are you nervous?