I walked into the hospital waiting room and sat down desperate to hear some good news about my brother. Initially, I heard nothing but the alarmed, rhythmic pounding of my heart. I stared only at my mother, hoping to see any suggestions that perhaps something had changed since she called me and informed me of the accident. But as I had predicted- nothing. She looked more fearful than she sounded over the phone. Not saying anything, I began taking in the environment in which I was placed.
The hospital room smelled like a synthetic, clean death.Crowded, the waiting room was filled with several, diverse groups of people. The sick, the impatient, the distressed. A variety of emotions across the board.
In the corner of the room, where the glare of the florescent lights on the tile floor seemed to glow brighter than any other square inch in the room, sat a boy and a girl playing with the toys supplied by the hospital.
Sitting across the room from the children, on the chairs directly across from the television set, sat an elderly couple. The man was attached to a device to assist him with his breathing, his facial features twisted and contorted demonstrating both the pain he was in and the fear that had, apparently, been recently bestowed upon him.
Sitting across the room from the children, on the chairs directly across from the television set, sat an elderly couple. The man was attached to a device to assist him with his breathing, his facial features twisted and contorted demonstrating both the pain he was in and the fear that had, apparently, been recently bestowed upon him.
Beeping. Constant beeping. Whispers, cries, distressed breathing. Moans and groans, prayers and arguments. A woman's nails tapping on the screen of her phone as she sends a text, a man's newspaper rattling as he turns the pages of the local paper. So many different sounds were heard. The more I focused on them, the louder they became in my ears. The more I focused the more I heard. The sizzling of a pop can being opened, the rattle of a chip bag being opened or the remains of a sandwich wrapper being balled up and thrown in the garbage.
There are the sounds of a pen clicking. The soothing voice of a nurse trying to calm down a man, drunkenly slurring his words and looking around him in a state of panic and confusion. Distant sirens, distant coins clinking in the vending machine. All these sounds, built up in my mind, making me go crazier and crazier as I awaited the news of my brother's state.
Suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore, and I rose abruptly, startling my mother. I told her I was going to get myself some coffee. I walked the short distance down the hallway and through the automatic sliding doors. I was then in an area with a variety of vending machines and a "bar" to make coffee and tea.
Once my coffee was ready, I poured the steaming liquid into a styrofoam cup, added my regular amount of sugar and cream, and made my way back to the waiting area to rejoin my mom. As I walked back, I remembered how uncomfortable the metal chairs were, and I found myself dreading going back into the waiting area, for more than one reason. The plastic, thin padded seat offered little to no comfort for the back and the derrière. I returned to my seat and immediately began crossing and uncrossing my legs, trying to find a comfortable position despite the cold metal armrests the dug into my forearms, painfully.
Giving up on finding a comfortable position, I carefully took a sip of my coffee, looking forward to tasting something good, considering everything else was going bad. However, rather than tasting something sweet, and wonderfully caffeinated as I had been expecting too, I tasted something extremely watered down, bitter, and all around lousy. Making a sour face, I swallowed despite how badly I wanted to get up and spit it out, and I placed the cup behind the leg of my chair, leaving it there.
Just as I placed my coffee cup down, a nurse walked into the waiting room and asked for the "Ricciardi's?"
My mother and I looked at each other and raised our hands. The nurse slowly walked over, looking down at the notes from the doctor on her clipboard. She was only a few steps away and in reality it only took her a couple of seconds to reach us, but it seemed like an eternity. She opened her mouth, took and breath and spoke to us the words we have been waiting all night to hear.
"He will be fine."
There are the sounds of a pen clicking. The soothing voice of a nurse trying to calm down a man, drunkenly slurring his words and looking around him in a state of panic and confusion. Distant sirens, distant coins clinking in the vending machine. All these sounds, built up in my mind, making me go crazier and crazier as I awaited the news of my brother's state.
Suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore, and I rose abruptly, startling my mother. I told her I was going to get myself some coffee. I walked the short distance down the hallway and through the automatic sliding doors. I was then in an area with a variety of vending machines and a "bar" to make coffee and tea.
Once my coffee was ready, I poured the steaming liquid into a styrofoam cup, added my regular amount of sugar and cream, and made my way back to the waiting area to rejoin my mom. As I walked back, I remembered how uncomfortable the metal chairs were, and I found myself dreading going back into the waiting area, for more than one reason. The plastic, thin padded seat offered little to no comfort for the back and the derrière. I returned to my seat and immediately began crossing and uncrossing my legs, trying to find a comfortable position despite the cold metal armrests the dug into my forearms, painfully.
Giving up on finding a comfortable position, I carefully took a sip of my coffee, looking forward to tasting something good, considering everything else was going bad. However, rather than tasting something sweet, and wonderfully caffeinated as I had been expecting too, I tasted something extremely watered down, bitter, and all around lousy. Making a sour face, I swallowed despite how badly I wanted to get up and spit it out, and I placed the cup behind the leg of my chair, leaving it there.
Just as I placed my coffee cup down, a nurse walked into the waiting room and asked for the "Ricciardi's?"
My mother and I looked at each other and raised our hands. The nurse slowly walked over, looking down at the notes from the doctor on her clipboard. She was only a few steps away and in reality it only took her a couple of seconds to reach us, but it seemed like an eternity. She opened her mouth, took and breath and spoke to us the words we have been waiting all night to hear.
"He will be fine."
