My mother is sitting in a chair,
laughing at a text message.
As I waited with my husband
I couldn’t help but laugh at his ears sticking out
of his surgical cap.
A simple genitourinary surgery, in and out. General anesthesia.
A simple genitourinary surgery, in and out. General anesthesia.
I wish I was with her when those three surgeons
stepped into the waiting room,
with faces as pale as their white coats.
I might buy an $8 latte to study here, in this white room –
endless outlets, pillowy chairs, so many chairs
but in them only one person, per patient, is allowed to sit
on a firm pillowless couch by the window,
we strap into our seats for the next five days
a rollercoaster of emotions, struggling to unbuckle
and not ready to release
I hear a husband updating his children by phone:
“Hi honey, mom just went into surgery.”
His voice is clear and steadied.
Entering the ICU is like falling into a nightmare
The air is heavier, the space tighter
The sterile walls alive with machines.
Tubes like slithering snakes, wrapping around my neck
My footsteps unsteady
As he glances at the neat notes beside him,
I startle at his eyes – ablaze with emotion –
sorrow-singed fear only strangers like me can see.
faces, faces, so many faces
racing in, racing out
I step inside his kind eyes and see his grandchildren
racing to greet him at the door,
asking him to read
one of us “sleeping” in the ICU
the others in the waiting room
the monitors like a bedtime story
a bedtime story, please, grandpa, just one more!
But when I felt my body drifting into sleep
I awoke, panicked: still breathing? Still beating?
My textbooks lay beside me, unopened.
when will I hear my phone ring
when will I hear the voice of the doctor in my ear
saying: it went OK.
I can still hear the steady beeps, the rhythmic ventilation
craving: he is OK
Buenas noches Papa, I would say
I can’t bear to let my eyes seek this stranger’s gaze.
he will see my fear and waste his steadiness on me.
I study his steadiness – the still of his hands –
and will myself to imitate.
time to let go
a circle of hands grasping each other, a circle of love
we hug him goodbye
If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,
then flattery is lying, lying to myself
with my husband laying flat on an OR table.
I can’t believe this is happening.
I can’t believe this is happening.
I lay my eyes on him for the last time,
electric candles laying by the door
the nurses gift us a beautiful vial
of his last heartbeat, to hold with us forever
Finally, the call from the surgeon
it went perfectly, he is in recovery
a 42-minute forever, finished
The chapel says it fits 100
300 came for his Celebration of Life
how many people he touched
from all corners of the world–it was surreal
but their stories were real
The pathology report says stage 1 seminoma
active surveillance recommended:
not radiation, not chemo, just scans, scans, scans
I feel disbelief,
I feel disbelief,
and loved,
and relief, relief, relief
He was so loved, loved
There are no words
There are no words
but here’s a few words, between us, from us