It was a quick call to You, as I pulled out of the hospital parking lot. You quietly tell me to be careful getting home and that You love me. You text those exact words every day to me and I love it. They make me feel cared for and today I really need them.
I can’t help but replay the whole scene over and over. We did everything right! We were ready for any complications. Nothing we did saved my patient in the end. No one dies in the surgery room, it’s too much red tape for hospitals. I sat on my patient’s cart and did chest compressions on his lifeless body all the way down the hall to the recovery room, where he was technically pronounced dead.
I am physically and emotionally drained. I am numb for now, but that usually doesn’t last long and I want to be home when it ends. When I walk into the house, You envelop me in your arms and I breathe you in. Tears well and I need to be alone for a bit. You always know what I need and tell me that there is a hot bath waiting for me, before I can say anything.
The water is cold when I get out of the tub. I have sat there way longer than I meant to. I can smell pizza even before I open the bathroom door. There, on our bed, You have made a small picnic of pizza and wine and gummy bears. You don’t expect me to talk, You just sit with me and eat. We watch mindless tv and I am calm.
You tell me that you have a little something for me, as You clean up our feast. You pull the covers back and tuck me in and hand me a new stuffed puppy. He is fuzzy and adorable. You tell me that he is for me to sleep with and that he keeps bad dreams away.
I am going to name him Love because that is what he is. He is my Daddy’s love for me.
