I feel as though I cannot breathe too deep. My paralyzing fear restrains me.
The waiting room, with walls too white, pulsates beneath the harsh lights that buzz like restless moths. It slowly moves to enclose me — to trap me with my fears.
My vision will not focus no matter my effort and my head is pounding in sync with the uneven ticks of the clock above the door. Each second is a drum of dread against my ribs as if it’s trying to knock me over.
The air tastes metallic and cold, choking me. I can’t inhale before another beat hits me, forcing the air from my lungs.
I try to regulate my breathing. I try to focus on something, anything else besides this unbearable pain of not knowing. The wilted, forgotten flowers on the table. The receptionist’s hopeless expression. The small boy on the floor across the room who is blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Anything.
Instead I sit here, sinking into the hard plastic chair, like a reminder that comfort is a luxury no one here deserves.
Voices flicker in and out of hearing, snippets of hurried footsteps, whispered prayers, brittle coughs — fragments of other lives folding into this shared silence.
My hands tremble though I squeeze them between my knees trying to put them to rest. I feel like I have no control over myself, just like I have no control over what’s to be told to me.
My throat is thick with things unsaid, there’s a swelling tide of fear rising in my chest. Every breath feels loud, every heartbeat a hammer in the quiet — too fast, too loud, too sharp. I want to scream and cry but there isn’t enough energy in me.
The door opens. A nurse steps out. Her eyes scan the room and then they find me. My world narrows to the complex silence between us, the space where hope and despair collide, and I hold my breath.
I try to figure it out before she reaches me, but she is expressionless and I am left with no answer. I’d rather not hear it aloud.
She talks to me as though it’s a casual conversation about the weather. No intention or emotion, just bland words, “I’m sorry.”
And at once, everything stopped. It’s like waking up and forgetting where you are. For a short time I simply took in the relief of the silence’s retirement. My surroundings faded in and I was suddenly aware. I didn’t feel real — life felt like I was an observer rather than a character. Everything was happening without me.
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