I asked her if she wanted me to go, but rather than nodding and kindly dismissing me, her "No", with an underlying tremor begged me to stay.
So I stayed.
And for a few heartbeats became part of the journey that she was on.
I had slipped into this waiting room for a little break while our baby was sleeping in his hospital bed. My arms ached from having held him in the same position long enough for him to fall asleep deeply. Now, wanting to stay close, this waiting room on the opposite side of the hospital ward was a small oasis. I hoped to find a comfy chair and settle into the brief but needed 'unrest' of parents of a sick child.
Her name was Melissa.
Early 30's. Poised. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the comfort garb of most parents and caregivers on the pediatric floor.
On closer observance, her eyes were pained, weary.
She was absentmindedly flipping through a magazine when I came in.
Smiles exchanged and I offered to leave if she wanted to be alone.
Her response and invitation to join her opened up the usual conversation.
Do you have a child in here? How old? What are the doctors saying? How long have you been here?
A brief synopsis and instant camaraderie.
"Hear that?" she asked.
The child screaming down the hall? Yes. No doubt the whole floor could hear him!
Her son. We grinned at each other with empathy.
She needed a break... and the nurse offered to keep an eye on him so she could leave for a much coveted sanity-saver.
We talked for a few more minutes; sharing the mutual understanding of having a child in a serious medical condition.
Her son, only 3, was suffering with ongoing secondary medical problems from the horrible disease of cystic fibrosis (basically,the body's inability to produce sweat and mucous causing many complications; including a gradual worsening of lung function).
They had been in and out of the hospital too many times to count, and recently in for 2 weeks straight.
As we were talking, an intern came in to speak with her.
The look on his face suggested this was not good news.
I offered to go.
With an anxious glance and a word from her, I knew I should stay.
In the next few moments, much of what they discussed was in medical terms foreign to my knowledge.
Cancer-words; I knew.
This disease, I did not.
But the bottom line came through at the end of their discussion.
Too clear.
To deal with his current abdominal malfunction which was only getting worse; both options would mean more surgery and less chance for a longer survival.
He was sorry.
She understood, and when her husband came later they would discuss the matter together.
The intern left...
Within a second I was on my feet, wrapping my arms around her as she burst into tears, weeping on my shoulder and in broken, stifled sobs crying,
"I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do for him!".
And all I could do was cry with her and hold her.
Mumbling quietly that I would pray for her...that angels were with her...that I was so sorry...
She soaked my weak words into her soul.
Then, as quickly as she had fallen apart, she was together again and almost embarrassed by her lack of composure said she must get back to him.
Turning to leave, she thanking me awkwardly.
I reassured her it was not a burden for me to be there in that moment.
I was not uncomfortable.
NO, the sickness was not okay.
No, the situation was not okay.
But, it was okay, to show her care.
Her emotions. She did not have to keep it all together, all the time.
Especially there. In the Waiting Room.
I never saw her again.
