You stand surrounded by machines that utter a clutter of out of rhythm bleeps. Other patients lay in their own white beds as their family also visit. The smell of cleaning chemical surging up each nostril as you breath. Well for me one of these moments happened, my mother called early one morning and uttered your father's in the hospital he's had a heart attack!
Now after hearing these words all I wanted to do was cry, but then I thought that would do no good. I couldn't rush down and visit so I had to sit and stew over churning, relentless thoughts and senarios. I imagined a weak old man laying in a white bed hooked up to those bleeping machines, instead of the young 50 something dad of before, as I had to wait.
Twenty four hours I had to imagine the worst until I saw him. Now don't get me wrong he wasn't the same man as before. He looked shaken and sweaty as he stared up at me and mum and I almost broke right there and then. Where had my dad gone? The one who argued with me at every turn, the one that could chase my brother down the street? And I had to realise that that man had long since been missing from my life.
My visit was brief just two days until I had to return to my normal life, work, boyfriend, comitments but all the while he was there tucked away in my mind as I awaited anymore news of his condition and what the remedy would be. Finally it came with another phone call, your dad is now home. Relief flooded through me at those words not justfor him but for me also, as now I could stop worrying and start truely living once again.