Incessant beeps torture the quiet of this small cell. The door has been closed to ward off the squeaking wheels of passing carts, but nurses keep leaving it adjar. Smells of lunch waft into the space, but no food stops here.
Chest pain. Swollen foot. Labored breath.
Oxygen tubes. Poked, prodded. Pain meds.
Blood test. Echocardiagram. CAT scan. Blood pressure check. Shot of blood thinner, a dose of insulin. A steady tick of the sodium chloride drip.
We busy ourselves watching television. Try not to watch the time elapsing, but the sun thwarts efforts to avoid knowing the day has wasted away. At least the rain has stopped, though the sky is murky grey with clouds.
We wait for the doctor.
They come as a trio. Questions. Confer. Escape. No answers.
We wait. For answers. For health restored. For release.
We hope this emergency will pass.