Working Through the Waiting

While you were lying around

the hospital, refusing to give

the doctors the one thing

they needed—I was on

my hands and knees,

scrubbing the floor by

your bed, under your

overstuffed blue chair, your

hippie couch, your red velvet

cane-backed chair, your whole

apartment.  True, you didn’t

have much choice about the chest

x-ray or blood sample, so  you stood

your ground where you could.  All day,

you refused to provide those kind and

loving doctors with a little tiny sample of

your urine.  I get that you were mad about

having to fast last night.  But at least we didn’t

eat in front of you.  We didn’t even make coffee

this morning.  We were careful to pack your favorite

cat food in the trunk of the car so its scent wouldn’t

get your mouth watering.  At Two PM I called  them:  

“Nothing yet,” they said—call back in an hour.”   Three

PM:  “She has not cooperated yet; call back at four.” 

I spoke to you through our usual route—mind to mind. 

Do you want to come home tonight, sit in my lap and

watch a movie? Then you have to pee, Mystie. You do!

The good news is that there’s a cure for your thyroid. 

The bad news is the long drive to Cornell and that we

have to leave you there for days.  The cost is steep,

but you are the light in our life.  Fast forward, fast

forward.  This will be so much better in the past.