The Hospital!

It’s 4:00 am now, who the hell do I call? I‘m driving, I’m speeding, don’t hit the damn wall.

What did the officer say when he left, an overdose, stages, and sometimes death.

Wait, what? I must have heard him wrong, did I block it, or imagine it, or was that in a song.

No, those were his words, I remember somehow, they were unclear before, but I hear them now.

His eyes told a secret he didn’t want shared, he was worried, and anxious and I’d even say scared.

Does he know, what I know, deep down inside, it’s bad, really bad, I begin to cry.

I called my sister wanting help to be tough, that did the opposite, boy was that rough.

“I don’t need you, don’t come, I was just letting you know, I can do this, I’ve got this, now I’ve got to go.”

I was tough, I can do this, remember the line, “Robertson’s do hard things”- all of the time.

I believed and I meant, every word that I said.....and then I arrived and you were already.......dead.

They let me go back and pointed that way, why he’s crying, and rocking and swaying that way.

I turned the corner to realize just what he saw, they’re pushing your chest and cutting your bra.

How do I watch, or look away, there is no right answer, when life is taken away.

I grab his arms, turn him away, don’t watch this, don’t look, don’t see her this way.

He’s swaying, he’s pale, he’s going to fall, grab his arm, get a chair, please, take him down the hall.

They unlock a door and let us go in, where are we, what is this, is this where it ends.

A knock from the door, the one at the end, I open it and find, my sweet sister, my friend.

We waited and cried as more people appeared, who called them, who told them, why are they here?

Thank God, they are here, we’ll need everyone. The doors opening, it’s time, they’re going to tell us it’s done.

Done trying, done working, they’ve done their best, they’re sorry, they hate this, they never get rest.

The doctor comes in, sits down in his chair, I can’t read his face, his words just hang in the air.

“There’s a pulse, it’s faint, we’ve moved her upstairs, ICU for pediatrics, try not to be scared.“

The doctor goes with us, as he gently explains, your daughter’s alive, but its anyone’s guess how long her brain went without one single breath.

“She’s the sickest patient I have here right now”, is left in the air, as we keep walking somehow.

We’ve made it upstairs and just sit and wait, she’s coding again, I can hear them say.

Please sign this-she needs this, it’s the only way, E.C.M.O. is needed, but she may still lose her leg.

Do what you have to, don’t hesitate, at all, we support you and trust you and know it’s your call.

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To be continued..