Life in a hospital stops time. Being with my beloved Paul over the week since his surgery has reminded me of sweet times spent with my sons when they were babies. I feel still inside. One moment I rub his feet with lotion; another, I call a nurse for more medication, or take notes when the cardiologist stops in. Three hours pass like a single breath. Presence muddies time. Menial things become interesting.
I first noticed this when my friend Holly and I took a walk around the skyways connecting the various hospital buildings. We were ambling over a four-lane highway when I heard myself say, “How interesting to be crossing a road!” I laughed. Had my life been reduced to such trivia? Holly told me a joke: “Why didn’t the skeleton cross the road?….Because it didn’t have the guts!” We laughed together and walked on.
I’ve crossed a road in more ways that one. The past few weeks have taught me to appreciate the simple things, like positioning a pillow just right under Paul’s head, or thanking the woman cleaning the floor of his room.
With the drama of the surgery behind us, I see now that it was all like crossing a road. I was afraid there would be danger, which there was, but we reached the other side, one step after another. It’s good to be here.
What road are you crossing?