like an impostor
in limbo, timeless.
i'm floating.
no cell reception
no responsibilities,
i'm just checking in
to see what i see:
the hospital walls,
the labeled doors,
the waiting rooms,
the anonymity.
no one knows i don't belong.
no one will ask, no one would guess.
i sit and watch the swinging car seat
of a brand new baby heading home.
the mom waddles behind. i can sense her relief.
the birthday balloons so shiny. so many.
they don't really take away your pain.
but we try to find light in the darkness.
we bring them anyway.
soon i'll be in a hospital bed.
i'll be stuck in place with an IV.
soon i'll wear those silly socks
that keep falling off my feet.
it's coming. i've been waiting long
for my turn to get well.
it's coming and i'm nervous
because hospitals are my living hell.
the entrapment, the immobility,
the fear of pain and what ifs.
my heart is thumping, "i'm not alone.
i know i've got this!"
time is up; I must head home.
laundry and supper await.
i'm not a patient yet.
i have preparations to make.
getting up to go.
"feel better!" is whispered about.
there's something in the air
i'm trying to sort it out.
it's not regular routine here.
it's life highlighted in bold.
live! breathe! feel!
mundane is put on hold.
this place reminds me to acknowledge
He Who gives us all.
thankful for each moment-
each one is a miracle.
i'll be more than okay
with this epiphany on my mind,
making moments present and full,
consciously accepting mine.
---
written 2018
