Today, I continue my story of "Our Space". If you have missed it, please see the previous post on July 9th.
The Space (cont'd)
The space shrinks to the two of us, the walls closing in. Pain suddenly courses through my arm and into my chest. The air is heavy and I cannot breathe, short gasps among the pain. I try to stand. My legs are weak and I fall to the floor. I try to call out, but no sound escapes my mouth. Blackness surrounds me as my space becomes smaller and smaller.
Voices disturb the oblivion of darkness. I sense the lifting, the movement, tand the dancing of lights around me. Am I alive, or are the angels carrying me? I try to listen, the voices calling my name. My heart? An operation? I think for a moment of the bright lights described by those who have experienced heaven and returned. A mysterious calm overcomes me and I sleep, preparing for what is to come.
From the darkness of deep sleep, more voices call my name. Angels? My eyes are heavy and sleep encloses me. I struggle to open them and realize I am alive. I am confused. My mouth is dry. A nurse brings a sip of water. To my stammered, probing questions, he tells me about the fall and about my surgery. A stent in my veins? I will make a complete recovery. Then I panic. What about my husband, lying in the bed in that awful room, that awful space? No one is with him. They try to assure me he is recovering. I have to see him. The nurse promises to take me to him as soon as they release me from the recovery room.
I wait. Again, I am not watching him. What tragedy might befall him, if I do not watch? It is my responsibility to be there for him. The nurse returns and releases the locks on the wheels of my bed. I watch the lights in the ceiling as I am wheeled down long hallways, into an elevator, and then into another hallway. We pass through a doorway into the familiar space. I hear the blip, blip of the machine connected to my husband. He is still alive.
The story will continue on Friday, July 13th. Stay tuned!