Topics:
correctional facilities,
daughter,
fear,
gurneys,
high schools,
pain,
pallor,
pulp abscess of finger,
stairs,
syncope
Late home alone, in hopes of rest
But daughter phones in great distress;
Had desperate call from high-school friend
Arrived at house, forced her way in,
Saw bottle empty, bathroom scrubbed
Friend very still, face-down in tub;
“Call 9-1-1, stay on the line,”
I drive like mad, thoughts slowing time;
Strobes flash red through viscous night,
Medics on scene, chaos and light
Daughter pale, faint cry from rear
As wounded soul spills pain and fear;
Gurney bumps down long back stair;
Now it’s quiet, drink fresh air—
I’m like a felon, freed from jail
Her endless hug, and long exhale…
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Permission to reprint granted to the American Society of Anesthesiologists, Inc., and Wolters Kluwer Health, Inc., by copyright author/owner.
2016
