A Brief Interlude

It had been a long three weeks. We were all exhausted. The minutes crawled by, and yet, somehow, the days passed quickly. How had it been three weeks? Hospitals, as anyone who has frequented them knows, are places you go if you want to completely lose your grasp on time, not to mention sanity. Not that anyone willingly chooses such a fate.

It had been three weeks of waiting, of tests, of uncertainties. And now, tonight, just like the last several nights, I was prepped and ready for open heart surgery in the morning. This "emergency" surgery to remove a large, metastatic tumor from my heart had been delayed over and over again. My mind would constantly wander, and I would imagine what sort of humans were taken to the OR instead of me each day.

I thought surely it was some obese smoker with thinning hair and a slight limp, or maybe it was a 92-year-old woman who was ready to die anyway. No, no, I've got it. Today, it was definitely a middle-aged alcoholic who had never eaten a vegetable in his life. This one makes the most sense, clearly. Let's call him Bob, for the sake of this story. At any rate, another Bob had taken my OR slot yet again. And so, I waited - again.

On this particular evening, as my husband, Jeff, was sitting with me, as he did every day, I had a slightly ridiculous, but slightly wonderful idea. I thought, if I might be going in for surgery tomorrow, how about a little fun first? I winked at Jeff and told him my idea.

The room was dark and still. The nursing station beyond the closed door was now quiet, as most patients had turned in for the night. Jeff laughed and told me I was crazy. He wasn’t completely wrong. But I thought, why not? Really? I was in my own private room with a solid door. Sure, this door did not possess a locking mechanism, but it closed tightly.

Finally, after stating my case, I convinced him. He kept saying, “This is a terrible idea.” Although apparently not too terrible, since it was mere seconds before his pants were off.

In the middle of the interlude, I thought I heard someone outside my door. We both stopped moving, stopped breathing. There was definitely someone outside the door.

“Quick!” I whispered urgently in my best whisper-yell, “Hop down and kneel beside the bed!"

There is no "quick" when trying to free yourself from the tangles of perfectly crisp and horrifyingly restraining hospital corner sheets. Jeff's escape from my bed was less than graceful and more slapstick. I struggled not to laugh, as I was both amused and concerned he would land face-first on the cold, hard floor.

Just in time, Jeff knelt behind the bed, so that it acted as a shield for the lower half of his body. He was leaning awkwardly, holding my hand, appearing as the good, supportive husband he was. I mean, really, who would suspect a thing? [Sidenote: I've become quite astute at convincing myself of alternate realities. It is, in fact, one of the little-known side effects of being a cancer patient.]

As the door slowly began to open, the dark room became incrementally brighter, with a sliver of light casting over the floor and onto the hospital bed. It was at this very inconvenient moment I realized the fault of our hasty retreat. For just beyond my bed (and my crouching, half-naked husband) was a window. I realized this window was likely now acting as a mirror as the darkness of it was met with light. It was quite literally holding a mirror up to our predicament.

“How is everything in here?” the nurse asked, her head cocked to one side.

“Great!” I said, a little too enthusiastically. No, definitely way too enthusiastically.

Ugh, why did I say great? Couldn't I have just said "good?"

"Great" implies something is going on. No one on this ward is "great."

Nevermind. It's done.

I took a slow breath in an attempt to appear calm, all the while unknowingly digging my nails ever so slightly into the back of Jeff's hand. I could feel his eyes on me, but I kept mine on the nurse. I knew that if I looked at him, I would lose it. I would completely blow our cover, however ill-conceived and unbelievable it might be.

“Okay… Let me know if you need anything,” the nurse said, as she backed out of the room, slowly closing the door behind her with a final click.

We remained still and didn't breathe again for a few seconds, as we waited for confirmation that she was not going to return. When we were fairly certain she wasn't coming back, and that we weren't going to be placed in the hospital-equivalent of solitary confinement, we both let out dramatic sighs as we sucked in air for the first time since that solid door began to swing open. We looked at each other and laughed quietly.

That was so close.

Jeff finally broke the silence, “She definitely knew what was happening. 100%.”

“Maybe..." I said with a smirk, “It's okay, we weren’t breaking any laws…"

I paused, trying to read his face for any sort of clue as to what he was thinking, then continued, "So, she won’t be back for a couple hours now…” I gently hinted with a mischievous smile.

“Are you kidding?!” Jeff said incredulously.

I was, in fact, not kidding. I was seeking joy in my day. I was still alive, after all. Despite what tomorrow may bring, I was still very much alive. And, so began A Brief Interlude, Part II.