The agony of waiting
Ken's granddad is in the hospital right now, about to undergo a heart catheterization in just a few minutes. I am not sure, but I bet that all five of his children, and some grandchildren, are all there right now, in the waiting room as I type. The agony of waiting for news....any news, but most of all, good news....is so hard to bear. I cannot imagine doing that alone. It is during instances such as this that family becomes that much more dear and precious to us; shoulders for us to lean upon.
Medical waiting rooms can be happy or sad places. The labor and delivery waiting rooms are vibrant and full of expectation. I was in one just over a week ago, as I went up to see my new niece, minutes old. The faces in those rooms are smiling and tense at the same time. No other time are wristwatches glanced at as often as in waiting rooms.
Waiting rooms for other areas of a hospital can be turbulent and emotion-laden. There may be mothers waiting to hear about their children, husbands waiting to hear about their wives, children waiting to hear about their parents. I have been in waiting rooms that exude this seriousness, as well, and it doesn't set well with my soul, even though it is sometimes necessary.
I remember a little over two years ago, Ken and I sat with numerous of my family members as my own grandpa underwent surgery to stop bleeding in his brain due to a fall. I would have been able to handle that waiting more easily, I'm sure, if I had not just seen him as he was wheeled off into the surgical halls, nervous and pale, yet still managing to grab my hand in his, shake it lovingly, and offer up a cute little joke to make me smile.
What relief comes when all is well, when the doctor breezes through the doors with very triumphant news. Your shoulders relax, your breathing takes up again its natural rhythm. You look at your family, tears in your eyes, realizing how fortunate you are to have them in your life. I remember making a vow that afternoon not to let a day go by without me telling those I love that I see or even talk to on the phone that I love them. Those three words are not said enough. Even the macho, unemotional types need to learn how to articulate this phrase and mean it. You have no idea when it might be to late to say it.
The most reassuring part of it all is that there is Someone Else in those waiting rooms with us....He is there to hold our hand and give us endurance until we can finally exhale. He is readily found in every "waiting room" of life. Even if there are no chairs, no people, no other sources of information or kindness, much less support....His presence remains. I take such comfort in that promise.
Medical waiting rooms can be happy or sad places. The labor and delivery waiting rooms are vibrant and full of expectation. I was in one just over a week ago, as I went up to see my new niece, minutes old. The faces in those rooms are smiling and tense at the same time. No other time are wristwatches glanced at as often as in waiting rooms.
Waiting rooms for other areas of a hospital can be turbulent and emotion-laden. There may be mothers waiting to hear about their children, husbands waiting to hear about their wives, children waiting to hear about their parents. I have been in waiting rooms that exude this seriousness, as well, and it doesn't set well with my soul, even though it is sometimes necessary.
I remember a little over two years ago, Ken and I sat with numerous of my family members as my own grandpa underwent surgery to stop bleeding in his brain due to a fall. I would have been able to handle that waiting more easily, I'm sure, if I had not just seen him as he was wheeled off into the surgical halls, nervous and pale, yet still managing to grab my hand in his, shake it lovingly, and offer up a cute little joke to make me smile.
What relief comes when all is well, when the doctor breezes through the doors with very triumphant news. Your shoulders relax, your breathing takes up again its natural rhythm. You look at your family, tears in your eyes, realizing how fortunate you are to have them in your life. I remember making a vow that afternoon not to let a day go by without me telling those I love that I see or even talk to on the phone that I love them. Those three words are not said enough. Even the macho, unemotional types need to learn how to articulate this phrase and mean it. You have no idea when it might be to late to say it.
The most reassuring part of it all is that there is Someone Else in those waiting rooms with us....He is there to hold our hand and give us endurance until we can finally exhale. He is readily found in every "waiting room" of life. Even if there are no chairs, no people, no other sources of information or kindness, much less support....His presence remains. I take such comfort in that promise.
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