by Mark Hahn
The surgery waiting room is like nowhere else on earth. Administrational bullshit meets the raw essence of flesh and blood existence. Logic collides with fear and superstition. The outside world moves forward uncaring and oblivious to the pain, anguish and hope residing inside these walls.
When you are left to wait while someone you love is wheeled away, every detail in this plastic world becomes your total world. There is no pretending that it’s just another day. In your heart you know that something very bad could happen. Even when there is no God in your life, you look to pray to something. When that something fails to respond, you wrack your brain for all the statistics you’ve ever read and hang your heart on luck.
It comes down to the skill of the surgeon, anesthesiologist and chance. So much of life is just luck, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. All you can do is let yourself cry. You think of that last look, that last kiss and having your heart ripped in two. You stand there alone and feel how fragile every aspect of your life actually is.