Love & Patience in the Waiting Room
It’s late in the evening. The emergency waiting room is bustling with overworked staff and overtired patients. A nurse finally summons the girl who sliced her hand washing supper dishes. I overhear the girl apologizing to her mom. She holds her close, as any mother would, then tightens the blood-soaked towel before heading toward the treatment rooms.
Earlier, an older lady was rolled in by her adult son and swiftly abandoned after a mumbled, “Sorry mom.” She sits here alone in the borrowed wheelchair with her invisible malady, occasional tears sailing down her hard-earned wrinkles. I can’t help but hope those wrinkles are from years of laughter.
A woman bursts through the doors and enters the ward, sprinting past me into the middle of the waiting area. She spins her head left and right, then in slow motion, turns and spots me. Her long black hair, not unlike mine used to be, lies tangled under her purse strap. I take a moment to recognize her. Wet lashes frame my daughter’s corduroy-brown eyes, mirroring mine.
“I just got the call. Are you okay?”
I shrug in response and hold up my blistered arm. Goosebumps form below my singed hairs as I brace for the presumed lecture. “I forgot to turn off the stove again.”
“I’m sorry, mom. We shouldn’t have left you alone.”