The lady on the phone was giving us orders on what to do and where to do it, advising us of construction and jam ups. Being a man I am used to taking orders without protest, but this morning was different, the heart operation my son was having was beginning and so our anxiety began along with it. Being how neither one of us could take slow for an answer on this occasion we looked for alternate traffic lanes that moved better than the others and the closer we got to the hospital the more we were pumped up.
Suddenly the cell phone came alive and Courtney answered. The hospital was calling! Our ears perked and our hearts stood still, waiting for our stomachs to make the slow journey from mid-torso to mouth, which was dryer than usual. What did they want? Could the lady on the other end give the doctors in the operating room Courtney's number? They needed to be in touch with Courtney it seemed. Courtney was also told they would call her.
Suddenly the urgency to get to the hospital became greater, the distance from it seemed to grow, palpations, sweats and clam-like wetness of the palms invaded our conscience; whatever in God's universe do they want to tell us?
Reaching the hospital, the phone never rang again, jumping out of our seats with the valet grabbing the keys we raced into the building, the anticipation one of desperation, jockeying into positions around visitors, and hospital staff to the final destination, the reception desk for the operating room visitors. Courtney almost breathless asked about the call and the person behind the desk made a phone call and handed the phone to Courtney.
As I watched her face, it slowly worked itself into a grin of happiness, as she handed the phone back and headed to a chair, slowly sitting and her head in her hands between her knees.
The phone call? Oh, just to tell us everything was going well.
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