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| 1ne day to never forgetit's been a while, huh?
well here goes
I d e e p l y regret not asking you to come with me to the hospital today. I was so unprepared to what my eyes were exposed to.
Let me start from the beginning:
This morning, I woke up late. I called in sick for work (and this time I really was), missed my first class on account of a mind-numbing headache and scratchy throat--it felt like thorns would pierce the inside of my neck everytime I attempted to swallow. I think, "Dangit, I guess I can't see Samantha after all, even though I promised her that I would come visit when I talked to her on Saturday--I guess I can try to make it up to her later somehow..." As I start the engine, I reached for my phone. "New Voicemail--1 Missed Call: Theresa" I shoulder the phone to my ear as I take the 5 minute drive to school. Theresa tells me that Samantha will be at the hospital all day until tomorrow. The message finishes with an awkward, "umm so....hope to see you around (nervous laughter)." I smile as I pull into my parking spot.
Classes proceeded as usual and once 4:00pm rolled around, I was already on my way to the flower shop.
I've never spent that long staring at flowers.
"Scott, just make a decision, it's not that hard."
But, I want it to look p r e t t y .
Three times I approached the worker lady, "Ma'am, how do you think these sunflowers look with these flowers?" "Do you think they will match this vase?" "Should I get a balloon?"
After what seemed like a good 30 minutes, I exited the store triumphantly with a bouquet of pink and white roses, complete with baby's breath and some small budding pink carnations. I purchased 5 sunflowers on the side to add to the m i x, along with a clear glass vase.
Luckily, my brother's place was not too far away and I could go and do the arrangements there. I've never had much experience with flowers, but I've seen my mom do it a bunch of times and thought I would give it a shot.
How hard could it be? You just snip snip, pour the flower food, and wallah! A pretty arrangement.
... Not uh Scott, that's why there are people called 'florists.'
Where should I cut these? How long should the stems be? Do I have to cut them at an angle? What about all these leaves? How much water do I need to put in the vase? Will Samantha care if I put the colored paper in or not? AHHHHH
I was so close to calling my mom and asking how what to do. It took me a while, but after some time, this is what my finished product look like:
I tried getting to the hospital as fast as I could.
5:10pm. I forgot about this little thing called Traffic.
Stop and go. Stop and go.
5:20pm. Traffic would like to introduce you to his friend named Rush Hour.
Some more stop and go.
People stare at me while I'm stopped and they must think I'm crazy. Driving a manual car one-handed while holding a flower vase in the other. The heat is blistering. Sweat droplets start appearing on my brow. Why did I have to wear a black shirt on a day like this?
Finally, at 5:48pm I'm walking towards the elevators.
Two ladies pass by me and say, "Oh how beautiful!" -- at least I did one thing right.
I approach the desk on the 3rd floor. "Would it be possible for me to get a mask? I'm visiting a friend and i don't want to get her sick." The kind nurse comes back with a stack and tells me that I can keep them. I still have Theresa's text message from before: "room 537"
I nervously shuffle my feet outside the door. I hear a woman's voice talking. I waste time by washing my hands with the foam antiseptic at least 3 times. I knock.
"Hi, I'm here to see Samantha."
The nurse opens the door and stares at me questionably.
"Is this Room 537?" I ask.
Luckily, a male nurse who knows what's going on quickly tells me that Samantha has been moved and takes me to 546.
I hesitantly knock again.
"Deuhl uh wah." -- comes from within.
Having a mom for a doctor, I've been around the hospital all the time growing up. The white drapes encircling the wards, people connected to IV machines walking around the floors, nurses and doctors bustling to and fro from every which way. It's not a new thing to me anymore and I can deal with the patients residing there.
But, this was something I would never forget.
I opened the door and let myself in. I een-sah to her father who stands to greet me. But there, right there, in the center of it all, is Samantha sleeping so peacefully. This is the first time I've seen her without her head scarf. [A head scarf is almost like a doo-rag, it serves to cover one's head so that people will not see the absence of hair--in this case, due to chemotherapy. I think it's pretty cool.] It's so cute, but so helpless. The slow, steady rising and falling of her chest is seen as the blanket moves along with her rhythmic breathing. Her mouth is open. She looks like a little child--almost a newborn baby who's just been taken off the respirator. I breathe in deeply to steady myself. You know the kind of breathing that you breathe after you've been crying as a kid? It's the kind of sniffling, rapid inhaling when you're parents tell you to stop crying? It was kind of like that.
She still has her glasses on and I can see the book she was reading next to her, before she quietly slipped off into unconsciousness.
I place the flowers on the table and I'm about to tell her dad to tell her that I stopped by, but he wakes her up and exits the room to give us privacy.
I feel so bad. Samantha immediately covers her face with the blanket in embarrassment. "Oh Scott! I don't even have my scarf on!" -- It's as if she's ashamed. Luckily, my masks hides most of my emotions. "Only Theresa has seen me without this."
I assure her that it is okay as I sat down to give her what little company I could offer her.
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