I wish…
My all-encompassing wish is that you live. That is all.
I am sitting with you as medical personnel of all levels prepare you for the procedure. My heart is racing and yours is galumphing because of the atrial fibrillation the procedure should correct. I hold my fear quiet inside as to not exacerbate yours.
The procedure is this: Your heart will be stopped and then re-started. Or not. Everything could go right or everything could go wrong. All the staff is full of hope and encouragement but they know the possibilities. It’s a gamble with you the probable winner, but…
I remind myself to breathe, slowly, steadily. The curtained room fills one person at a time, one machine and another, until I realize I must leave because, (1) there is no more room for me, and (2) my own heart needs some relief. I am assured I will be called when the procedure finishes, one way or another. Our goodbye kiss means everything.