Tonight, as I was getting a tattoo done, my daughter calls my son (who was doing the tattoo) to give her a ride to the hospital. She was having chest pains, pain in her jaw and down her left arm.
Classic heart attack symptoms.
I told her (and him) that I would drive her. It’s where I needed to be, and I didn’t need her sitting there, alone, wondering…
We get there, go right in, and wait for the doc.
ECG looks good. There’s nothing serious going on – so it could be any one of a number of things – or perhaps a number of things all at once. At any rate, not to worry. Go home, get some rest.
I’m sitting there in the hospital while we wait.
Looking around the ER.
Listening to the sounds.
It’s quiet there. Probably the quietest I’ve ever heard it.
But it is oh so familiar.
The heart attack.
The heart incident.
The next heart attack.
Another heart incident.
I don’t want to feel uncomfortable in hospitals. I don’t want to be afraid to go get medical attention. I don’t want to have a panick attack every time I need to be there.
It’s most definitely not my favourite place.
It’s too full of memories.