Emergency

Through the double doors, we leave our souls at the first step. 

My misguided feet now lead me into a spiral of emotions. 

Vomit comes close but I swallow that down. 

Be strong. Don’t cry. Be strong. 

The scent of things being “too clean” consumes my nose cavity and burns my eyes.

IV’s with drugs and tubes that carry waste out of his body. 

A constant sucking and emptying noise; machine made. Then gagging.

But it’s not me this time. I don’t turn my eyes away from this struggle from a man who is never supposed to be sick.

With hands as thick as wood, and a frame towering clear over that of my own, his body seems unusually small from this side view.

His back is crouched low and with the long white pads that engulf both of his legs keeping his blood flow continuous, it’s as if he had no legs at all.

The rounding tube that is fed through his nose, down the throat, and into the stomach is his enemy. 

He cannot move. If he does, pain. I’ve never seen him like this.

I leave after a few hours of staring. I couldn’t stomach the smell. I couldn’t stomach the thoughts.

So I walked down the white halls, past the desk nurses, slide away from the wheel chairs and gurneys, away from the filled rooms of “what ifs?” and drug induced bodies.

Past the waiting rooms where the devil himself empties your soul; draining all hope. 

Welcome to the place that saves lives.