The Sounds of Silence..... Or maybe the sounds of dying, of pain, of hope, of suffering and of regrett. Yesterday, I spent one of the longest days of my life sitting on a plain black chair, in the corner of a vast, cold and sterile room. The chair was small, and uncomfortable. There was no wiggle room for my body to adjust. I could only sit. I could only watch and listen to sounds around me. I was protected by a large floor to ceiling curtain. Or better said, my eyes were protected. My heart, my ears, my soul were not so lucky. Only a few know that I had to take my mother into the emergency room yesterday. She is there with a combination of different and serious conditions that required immediate help. Our trip to the hospital was short, but time dissapeared once we walked through that door. The hospital and its staff were and are wonderful. I was reassured almost immediately when the first lady to help me get a wheel chair to the car, took my mothers hand and held it and told her it would be ok. The look of relief in her eyes was almost instant and I will remember that moment for the rest of my life. Inside, we were greeted with a wall of people, waiting, holding, wanting and sufferening. Old, young, babies, families all wanting to get in. Some smiles, long and loney faces, and eyes filled with tears just waiting to fall were what reached inside of me. We were quickly ushered inside, but one look back took me to memories of long ago, when my dad took this jouney and never left those same doors. My mom would ask me what time it was, and it wasnt important to answer. I just made it up. Time had stopped, but the sounds were there. All around me, inside of me and they wouldnt stop. From my little black chair in the couner, I was out of the way as they worked, but close enough that she could look into my eyes as she hurt. In this vast room, looped, dull curtains were hung from the ceiling and made an almost silent but nerving sound as the tired metal on metal scraped along as the room was divided into two. If felt closed, almost unbearable. The lights were lowered to block out the room, but nothing blocked the sound. Wailing into this space were shrill and loud electric sounds like dentist drills on speed. Muffled voices, feet walking slowly, shuffling into the distance. A lone baby crying, and a tired voice trying to sooth. Doors being opened slow, some fast, and the slaming of urgencey here and there. A new patient was brought into the space across the curtain. No names, just rushed voices asking what seemed like a million questions as he tried to answer, tried to respond. His breath was long, hard and cut deep into my soul as he tried to take in air. Not much was making it out, except for what I can only imagine was the sound of his pain, his suffering. I was sitting in that corner, just beyond the curtain where he lay. Sounds of things being torn open, things dropping, voices saying more, here and wait. It was the breathing sounds that got to me. They were not getting better, they were nothing I have heard before. More voices came in, busier sounds. The sounds of machines tyring to what I can only imagine to force him to breath. I closed my eyes, as the nurse helping us was called into the other space. The sounds were nothing I wanted to hear. Nothing I wanted to know. And after a while it got quiet, the machine continued to breath. The voices began to leave, and only one remained. I will never know, to where he went as they wheeled him out, but the sounds remained, at least with me. And I could hear the sounds from the hall again. And the voice of my mother telling me to go and get something to eat. Eight hours sitting in that little chair, and that felt like home. That sound was comforting to me. I knew that sound and it felt good. I looked her in the eye, and saw the comfort that she found in my face. Still trying to be my mother at my age. So I let her. We talked about many things, as much as we could to hide the pain. Eight hours meant nothing. Time means nothing. Not here, not in this space. We connected again, mother and son. And the sounds of her voice filled me. We got a room, and were taken upstairs, to start all over again. But this time, that little black chair turned into a comfortable recliner, and the gurney into a soft bed. Her eyes of pain were softer, and her voice resting a bit. And new sounds entered into this space, leaving me to close my eyes and wonder. For my friends who work in medicine and especially in hospitals, I adore you. You do what I can not. You see and hear what I cant imagine. And you smile, open your heart one more time and truly care. I am strong, but your strength is super human. As for my mom, she is holding strong. Time will heal, and we will all be better for it. And the sounds....the sounds of silence that never comes, unless uninvited......
Posted on: Mon, 11 Aug 2014 04:05:16 +0000
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