by ottersong
© 2000 ottersong, all rights reserved
Pain-intruder, overwhelming our quiet afternoon, sends us siren-screaming over interstates and city streets. Dizzying speeds in the hands of competent EMTs deliver us to the well-oiled machine of the Emergency Room.
As my ashen-faced child averts her panic-cool stare, highways are cut into my hands and arms; avenues of information strive to solve the mystery of my malfunction.
Prodded and questioned amid controlled pandemonium, I almost don't notice the chorus of chaos - beeping monitors, a screaming child, moaning elders, fear-strained sounds of family members desperately bargaining with the cool, efficient parade of nurses and technicians and Diety.
The waiting for test results sweetly reminds me that not only am I still alive, but thinking is possible within fear. A mental note is made of that - Thinking is Possible within Fear. Cool heads and hands, warm hearts, fear icy-hot, we all dwell together here. In the forced fluorescent daylight, we speak in silences here. The struggle is public, the panic is public, and only resignation is private in an ER. Only denial is denied here as death waits for another day.