The waiting room is my home for what will seem a long, long time.
It is early, but the room is filling with the inner circles of surgery patients — spouses, parents, children, best friends, soul mates or available substitutes.
Few of us smile.
Starting the process early in the morning works well for the hospital, but as a byproduct it brings people out of their beds and into this room at a dark time of day conducive to low, deep thoughts about mortality.
There are windows but I’m guessing it will seem dark for as long as I am here.
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