Room #8

Today started out like most others. A date with Bruce (aka Devil Dog) at the park at 5:45 for our morning stroll.

When I got home my husband was leaning on the kitchen counter staring into the distance. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure"

"I've had chest pains since I woke this morning....a lot of pains" 

"What?" "Really?" secretly thinking...."Oh God not now"

We head to the hospital after he makes a few arrangements and my mom comes over to entertain two wholly unentertainable children.

Not much to say in the car. Just don't wreck, pay attention.

As the triage nurse shows us to Mr. Johnson's room she passes 20 unoccupied rooms.....TWENTY. At the end of a long hallway, the very last door, that room has many memories for me. Hard memories that I wish I could forget. "Oh please Lord, don't let us go into that room.....not now, not ever. I want to forget" I pray. As the room gets closer my mind begs my feet not to enter the room, I get nauseous, I don't want to be here. Is there any other room? Please not this one. Sweating, shaking, and fear. Has anything happened in this room that isn't sad? It's just a bad omen. Every cell in me pleads not to go in.

It's been 4 months today.

That room, the one I'd rather forget or better yet never experienced, is the room we are placed. As we enter the room the wall mounted TV was tuned to the soccer match. All I could hear was the blaring white noise of the horns and think my soul feels a lot like that right now.

It was weird to watch Mr. Johnson on the bed. It's my bed. The last place I was before it all fell apart. I remember every detail. The worried look on Mr. Johnson's face then is the same look upon my face now. The pink puke cups on the counter, and curtain that couldn't shield me from reality. It was all there. It looked so sterile. I thought about all the people who've had their lives altered in this room. Now my life would be altered in this very room again. Why here? Why not down the hall?

Mr. Johnson is stoic. I try but my eyes rim with hot tears. "Don't loose it now. Wait until I get home....not now" I plead with myself. Why didn't I wear waterproof mascara today? I saw it in the make-up stash and remember thinking, "Huh, it's been a while since I've worn that maybe I should throw it out."

I try to watch the soccer game. Mr. Johnson looks so different in a hospital gown. So vulnerable. So frail. I hate it. Should I talk? Does he want me to talk? I'm so nervous.

The cardiac nurse comes in to do some sort of an X-ray and asks me to wait outside the room. I stand in the hall and look at all the rooms full of people who may not receive good news today. Maybe today they will receive the worst news of their whole life today in this hospital just feet away from me, tucked away out of sight behind huge metal doors. I want to hug them and cry.

A nurse with blood collecting tools comes up and stands next to me in the hall. She is polite and friendly and makes chit chat. She asks me to stand further away from Mr. Johnson's room because of the radiation given off by the X-ray machine. "Your young" she says to me, "you'll want to protect those ovaries because you'll have some beautiful children someday." I start to cry and said "I wish that were true" but didn't let her see my face.

"Do you think we were put in this room for a reason?" he asks me when I come back in.

I don't know.

While we wait for results our friends and our pastor with his wife come in. Just having them there was comforting. Maybe the world won't spin out of control if other people are with us. Abby, the preacher's wife starts to cry when she's talking to me. My eyes rim again. I can't fall apart not here, not now.

The doctor enters the room. He's smiling and walks in briskly. My doctors didn't. They talked in low tones and slowly with no smile upon their faces. Being the bearer of bad news changes people. Thankfully, all of Mr. Johnson's tests came back normal. It was only stress. Some people do leave this room with good news I suppose. I am eternally thankful.

They pray for us. David (our friend) prays for "a cure for our broken-hearts" I love him. Mr. Johnson starts to cry after the prayer. I can't hold it together anymore. I sit on the bed with the intention of comforting him. I know how lonely that bed is. It's horrible. I sit with him with my head buried in his neck and arms stretched over his shoulders. Feeling him so close to me. I love him more than I love myself. I cry, and cry and cry and can't stop. "I need water proof mascara", I think. My body heaves and trembles. I can't stop and I don't want to stop. This room is horrible. I am cry for my husband and for me. He comforts me. Stokes my hair and then holds my head until I can breath on my own without him helping me.

He's perfect. I remember holding him when I was in that bed 4 months ago trying to comfort him. I wish we weren't here now doing this again. I wish I was stronger right now.


We gather our things and leave with good news. As we walked out I didn't even look back on the room that has altered our lives. I wonder if we'll ever see that room again and what news we'll hear in it.