"Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet." Cyrus Farivar

Monday, March 21, 2011


            Everything in the room beeped. Or at least they had some kind of bell or whistle. The most prominent being the heart monitor. It was calming to hear it consistently peep with each pulse; the line steady with each flicker. Two days had passed, and there was still no change. He’d barely left her bedside; peeling himself away to go eat and shower, or visit their newborn in the nursery. By this point, he knew his way around the hospital with his eyes closed. Every few hours of sitting in his wife’s room, he’d wander to hold their daughter.
            But now, he was back to her room; he hoped today would be when he’d see her eyes open. When squeezing her hand would result in a response and finally she could meet their baby. Reaching over, he took her hand and pressed his lips to the back and held it between both of his palms. Beep. Beep. Beep. Her pulse remained as unchanged as it had two days ago after her emergency C-section. Pressing her hand to his cheek, he wished to feel her fingers through his hair or hold her close and inhale her fruity shampoo. Kissing her hand once more, his eyes focused on her face, currently marred by the wires and breathing mask.
            In the back of his weary mind, there was doubt that she would never open her eyes again; that they would never be a family. The inevitable. He couldn’t imagine being alone to raise their daughter, to know that they would never be together again.
            Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts, he reached up to wipe the tears that were slipping down his cheeks. The door opened, revealing a doctor to update the charts. Glancing to the woman, he watched her check the fluids and jot a few things down before she turned to retreat. Pausing, she placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him an encouraging smile. A moment later, she was gone and he was once again alone. Beep. Beep. Beep.

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