Running side by side with the stretcher, I can still hear the ambulance sirens ringing in my ears. I ask the paramedics,
“Will she be okay? What’s wrong with her? Someone please give me an answer!”
“We won’t know until we take her into surgery. She needs to get to an operating room right away. Someone page Doctor Johnson. Sir, you will have to take a seat in the waiting room. We will keep you updated as much as we can.”
I looked at the paramedic, almost with a glare in my eyes, “You better take care of her. She can’t go, it’s not her time.” The paramedic took one easy look at me and said, “You never know when it is your time. We’ll take as best of care of her as we can.”
With that, they disappeared with my daughter, through the electric doors. I mumbled to myself, “I love you.”
Sitting in the waiting room, I kept thinking to myself, “How am I going to get through this?” Without any guidance or comfort from a loved one, I sat staring at the blank walls. The repeating ticking of the clock did nothing but raise my nerves. Where were the doctors? Why had they not contacted me about her status yet? I could feel the steam coming off my face as sweat ran down my cheek. I cannot even begin to explain this gut wrenching feeling I had in my stomach.
It seems like just yesterday she was in her mother’s closet, trying on all of her clothes, shoes and jewelry. She used to say, “Daddy, do I look like a princess like Mommy does?” I can remember taking a long, hard look at her and saying, “You are a beautiful princess.” She would smile from ear to ear and continue to clonk around in heels that were 5 sizes too big. I wish she could have stayed that age forever. Some people like to think it gets easier as they get older, less watching over them, not as many worries, however it is exactly the opposite. Every time she leaves the house and gets into her car, I worry. Every time she says she is going to a friend’s house, I worry. As your children get older, you want to be able to give them more freedom, but with that comes an immense amount of worries. Whenever she leaves the house, I do not feel comfortable again until the minute I see her walk through the door.
You know, if the doctors really cared about how I felt, they would be updating me every few minutes. How would I know if her vitals were stable, or if she is crashing on the table? I have a right to know everything that goes on in that operating room, yet not one of these doctors seem to care.
These blank, white walls around me make me feel as though I am trapped in an insane asylum. No one around me, no window to look out of, left with nothing but my own thoughts to dwell on. Was this my fault? Was she sick because of me?
Suddenly, a man in blue scrubs comes walking through the door. I jump up out of my seat and ask, “Is she alright? How is she doing? What is going on?” “Sir, I am going to need you to slow down for a second. Take a breath and relax.” Relax? This guy was telling me to relax? Does he not understand that is my daughter in there? The girl I have raised on my own since she was six. The girl I helped ride a bike for her first time. The girl who I check on every night while she’s sleeping, just to put me at ease.
“You’re telling me to relax, but my daughter is laying on a table in their having an unexpected surgery that I don’t even know what for! And you expect me to relax? How about you do your job, and I’ll do mine.”
The doctor gave me a hard stare, clearly he was at a loss of words. “The surgeon is doing the best he can. He is the best brain surgeon in this hospital. She has suffered a serious head injury that has caused excess bleeding in her brain. We won’t know what her outcome is going to be until we can get this bleeding to stop and fix the damage done to her skull.”
I stared, and sat down. The room seemed to get a lot smaller. As if the walls were coming in, I felt claustrophobic. The doctor mumbled something to me but I could not find the words to respond. He gave one more look at me, and walked out of the room.
There was this one time when she was about eight and it was on a gorgeous summer day. I took her to the public pool so she could swim and enjoy the doors, while I could watch her and get some reading done. I can remember, sitting on the chair and watching her as she played in the water, not a care in the world. That’s a funny thing with children, how easy it is for them to forget what is going on in their world, they just get lost in their imagination and can be lost in their for hours. She had seen me looking at her and said, “Daddy come swimming with me! We could have a race!” She was so cute playing peacefully in the pool but how could I say no? I jumped in and she immediately started swimming. “Last one to touch the wall is a rotten egg!” I swam and caught up with her, she was pushing so hard to try and pass me. Just as we were about ten feet away from the wall, I eased up, letting her take the lead. She touched the wall and screamed, “I beat you, Daddy! I am the fastest swimmer in the pool!”
The ticking of the clock was all I could hear. No sound, no motion in the room. Why had they not finished yet? Could they not figure out the problem? They’re doctors, after all it is their job. I lifted my head up and peered at the clock, it had only been about twelve minutes since that doctor had come and talked to me. Yet, it felt like twelve hours had passed. Playing the waiting game was all I could do.


About two hours had passed; I did nothing but sit in my chair…waiting. No doctor or even person came into the room. I held my head in my hands, thinking about what was going on. Why was it taking so long? Finally, the doctor had returned to the room.


“Well sir, we just finished surgery.” The doctor began. “And? How is she? Where can I see her?” My mind was filled with emotions, thoughts were racing, I was ready to run in circles. “She is okay, right?” “She is alive. We were able to stop the bleeding and stitch the part of the brain. It seemed as if she must have fell and hit her head on something sharp. It was a serious blow to the skull. Her brain was able to be repaired but a lot of blood was lost. Her skull suffered a serious amount of trauma. There definitely was a great amount of damage done to her brain. We won’t know what her effects from the injury will be until she wakes up. She could be paralyzed, not be able to speak, or perfectly fine. Her injury occurred on the left side of her brain, which is why her language could easily be affected. But like I said, Sir, we won’t know much of anything until she wakes up.” I stared. “When will she wake up?” “We can’t tell. It could be in an hour, it could be in a day, or five days. We don’t know.” I stared, and held my stare. I could not longer handle these “we don’t know” statements.


“So you are telling me, that while my daughter just went through a four hour surgery, which we don’t know why, we don’t know when she will wake up or what her outcome will be? Do you people even care about the people who love her? Do you understand she is my daughter? I raised her, I bathed her, I taught her how to read. And now you have the nerve to stand there and tell me that you don’t know anything?! Then what have you been doing in that room for the last four hours! While I have been sitting here, what have you been doing?” I could feel the anger in my voice as it started to rise. My face was burning with fury; the vein on the side of my head was beginning to stick out. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to sit down and rela-“ “How DARE you tell me to relax! Who do you think you are?” I began approaching the doctor, I could feel my nails digging into my palm as fists curled. “Sir, please just try to calm down. There is nothing I can do. This is just what we know.” “Know? What you know? More like what you don’t know! You have been worthless to me! I have sat in this waiting area, by myself, with nothing but my daughter on my mind and no updates or any news that could possibly make me feel better! Then, you come in here and tell me you still don’t know anything!”
“Sir, I may not know what her outcome will be. But I do know she is alive. That surgeon in the operating room saved your daughters life. She may not be the same as she once was, but she is still your daughter. And she is alive. She is alive…”


I slowly began to step back, my fingers beginning to uncurl. I sat down in the chair. “She is alive. She’s alive.” I buried my face into my hands and began to cry. My baby is alive.