I went to the
hospital again last night. I hate it when I'm there- knowing I have to see you
suffering 2 hours every day- knowing there's nothing I can do about it.
Sometimes you fall asleep- those are the better times. You look so peaceful when you sleep, as if you've been granted a fleeting reprieve from having to worry about the future. It's worse when you wake up though- the first frantic moments when your eyes search the room, making sure I didn't leave while you were asleep. Don't worry, I won't be going away until it's time.
Occasionally I wish eight o'clock would come sooner so I don't have to watch your pain anymore- so I don't have to wonder whose torture is more difficult to bear... they must be different kinds of suffering. One affects the heart, the other the body.
Eventually, 8pm arrives and the intern comes to tell us visiting hours are over. The doctor stops by to give an update on how well the treatments are working.
I'm careful not to displace the tubes and wires as I give you a kiss goodnight. You collect your belongings and leave for home. Then it's my turn to get some rest... lulled gently to sleep by the low constant hum of the machines that are keeping me alive.