Holding Out a Hand

Hope arrived without fanfare,
knowing full well
we were entering the unknown.

Radiology and Same Day Emergency Care waiting rooms,
rooms where blood is taken,
pressure measured,
reassurance offered
that everything will be OK.

Hope doesn’t ask permission to enter,
it simply holds out a hand
whenever it can.

Silver pearls in her gallbladder,
inflamed, angry, then gone,
holes where keys did the work,
Hope standing nearby,
watching both her and me,
making sure she stayed strong,
making sure I didn’t crumble.

Then the MRI room.
Liquid and infection found.
They brought her in,
and Hope was already waiting at the door
to guide them.

Endoscopy Theatre,
then the Surgical ward,
another restless night for us both.

Her skin more white than red,
Hope tried to make her better
but she still needed a boost,
a bag of rubies hanging from a stand,
pumps whirring day and night,
beeping when empty
or when something wasn’t right.

They said she had to stay in,
another night looming long.

Hope waits by our side,
ready to be our guide.

But the staff —
like when they asked
“Are You OK?” —
were kind,
steadfast,
steady-handed.