April 29: Diagnosis

 

Snow and ice were imminent, 

so when he complained of pain, 

named the discomfort in words, 

and after failed phone calls, 

we just went, drove directly 

to Emergency (wondering whether 

it was one but no longer willing 

to wait and see…) 

He would walk in alone as I parked 

across the way, then I forgot my book 

in the car. Then his phone battery died 

and all we had between us was the quiet 

of hallways, late-night fluorescence.

I’ll cut to the diagnosis: all turned out fine.

They took his blood. He streamed urine 

into a cup –  not the first time nor the last. 

The blood tests, the scans, before those 

an IV drip and that white barium drink 

they rolled out with a bendy straw. 

His feet hung over the bed’s edge. 

A good man, he tolerated it all. 

A day later, I recalled the release 

of the taped needle from his arm, 

the drip down, the ying yang rhythm 

of his appendix on the ultrasound.

The waiting won’t be what we remember.

We made it home, before the sleety flakes 

and ice descended. I fell into sleep just as 

the snow day call came in. By the time I awoke 

it was down to gray slush and when he rose 

early that afternoon, the sun was fully out.

Had he needed an appendectomy 

it might have been exciting. Maybe: 

they’d have rushed him down those 

neon hospital hallways. Maybe: 

in some other universe, I am still 

sitting beside him as he wakes 

from surgery and I ply him 

with popsicles and juice and say 

Jesus that was close kid! So glad 

we came. And he says through 

raspy breath: Yeah… yeah… 

Good call, Mom.

Valley Hospital 2/5/25