I have quite the pedigree in personal hospital time and hospital waiting room time and etiquette. I know that surgeries often run longer than estimated, that anesthesia can take longer than expected to take affect, I am aware of every possible time extender and complication. I was raised in a home of medical professionals. I know what to expect. I know when to worry. Knowledge is not power in this case. My heart and my nerves are not listening to my calm, cool and collected brain.
I have never been on this end of the waiting. I have been the granddaughter, daughter, niece, daughter in law, granddaughter in law and friend.
I have never been the wife.
I have never had to endure the ticking as a wife before. Countless seconds turn into minutes with each tick of the second hand. Endless waiting for the surgeon to come out and talk to me, to let me know my world is still intact. Each second an eternity past when the surgeon told us he would be out to speak with us. Agony... The waiting.
Tick, tick, tick...forty-five minutes past the estimated two hours. My brain has kicked into overdrive. There must be some difficulty or complication. I am struggling to hold back the tears, drawing quiet strength from my father beside me.
His last words to me were if you should need help with the life insurance, call my boss. She can help you. Tears, streaming down my face held in check until these words crack my carefully constructed shield of bravery. I am reduced to tears by the man I love most in all the world, as he tried to prepare me for the worst possible outcome of his surgery. He was more nervous than I have ever seen him, as he waited for the surgery that however minor, will make him whole once again. Allow him to return to life and work and walking.
Wy haven't they come out yet? Did something go wrong? De he have an unforseen allergy to add to his list of many? All of the worst case scenarios play out in my mind, all the what if's while we, us, and our family hangs in the balance, playing the waiting game.