The Waiting Room

The waiting room was a barren, empty space that offered no comfort to those who sort refuge within its walls. The beige linoleum was scuffed and worn in places where chairs had been repeatedly dragged across its surface. The walls, painted an off white shade that may have been soothing once, were now cold and grim looking. Strange stains adorned their surface whilst notices about hospital regulations and health warnings broke up the monotony. The harsh, fluorescent light strips showed the plastic covered couches in all their grim detail.

None of this made any impression on Jake as he sat on a hard, plastic chair. He stared without seeing at the wooden coffee table with its scattered selection of multi genre magazines lying haphazardly across it. From the partially open doorway, voices and alarms drifted in but he was oblivious to them. Locked in his own isolated world, not even the harsh smell of antiseptic and disinfectant could penetrate the hell he was in.

Beneath the natural bronze skin tone his face was pale, shadows lay beneath eyes closed against the harsh reality around him. His hands were clasped tightly together, forehead resting against them as though in prayer. Bruises marred the skin of his knuckles, testament of an earlier fight he’d been involved in. A physical one rather than the emotional one he was embroiled in at the moment.

Lines of tension bracketed his lips, reflecting the stress he was currently experiencing. Never before had he felt something like this. This fear that churned at his guts, tying them up in knots so tight he felt as though he was being split into two. Every time he became aware of footsteps nearing the door his heart rate leapt up, his pulse pounding loudly in his ears until it drowned out all other noises.

He leant back in the chair, his muscles aching from being so still and tense for so long. His hands, shaking slightly, rubbed over his face before dropping down to his lap. He became aware of the state of his clothing as he sat there. His blue jeans dusty and torn at the knees whilst his sweatshirt had seen much better days. Had he been in a clearer frame of mind he would have showered and changed before coming to the hospital. The phone call he had received, though, had crashed his mind, driving all sense from it until all he could think of was getting here.

His eyes opened slowly, the long, golden lashes revealing blue eyes filled with torment and pain. He saw the bruising on his knuckles and shook his head at the memory. What had seemed so important just a few short hours ago now seemed trivial and insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

He had been so stupid, he could see that now. He should have listened and perhaps this would not have happened. Perhaps everything would have been the same as it had that morning, before he’d left for the station and his shift. Or would it? Tensions had been building between them. Questions hanging unasked and unanswered every time they were together. Would they have the chance to sort out their problems or would it end with nothing resolved and an emptiness clawing at him.

He looked at the door and wondered how long he had been sat there. Out of habit he glanced down at his wrist but his watch wasn’t there. It was lying on the bedside table where he’d left it that morning, forgotten after yet another argument. If only you could turn back time. But you couldn’t, all you could do was try to put things right which was what he was going to do if he got another chance.

More time passed without him noticing. Orderlies brought him cups of coffee which lay untouched on the coffee table. Nurses checked in on him, telling him that everything was going well but he paid them no attention. He didn’t want to hear the standard talk, he wanted the truth, the facts about the situation and the future, if there was one. He wanted to know, no matter how painful it was.

“Mr Sinclair?”

He looked up and tried to focus on the woman standing in the doorway. She wasn’t wearing the green uniform of the nurses who had visited him during his stay in the waiting room. His foggy brain spluttered into action, recognising that the woman wore a surgeon’s uniform and looked as though she had just come from theatre.

“Yes,” he croaked, scrabbling to his feet on legs that felt unable to support him.

“Your wife is out of surgery, now. They’re just taking her to her room. A nurse will be along shortly to take you down there.” She gave him a brief smile to indicate that everything had gone to plan in the operating theatre.

“Is she …?” He could not get the words past the thorny ball that had taken root in his throat.

“She’s fine. Everything went to plan and there should be no complications in the future.”

“And the baby?”

Her smile widened. “You have a beautiful son, Mr Sinclair. He’s a little small at the moment, which is understandable, but everything is as it should be. He has an impressive set of lungs, I can tell you that. My team have taken him down to the Special Care Baby Unit where he’ll stay for a couple of days. We’re not anticipating any problems with him.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” Relief was coursing through him like a cold river across a barren riverbed, refreshing and life giving.

A nurse appeared at the doorway and indicated for him to follow her down the corridor. Jake strode out behind her, his heart pounding in his chest, his hands clammy. He felt like he was going for a life or death interview, which, in a sense, was where he was going.

The nurse stopped outside the door to a private room. “Your wife’s inside, Mr Sinclair. When you’re ready, if you call at the nurse’s station, one of us will take you down to the Baby Unit so that you can see your son.” At his nod of acknowledgement she turned and retreated to the nurse’s station.

A young woman lay on the narrow hospital bed. Her flame coloured hair spread out across the pillow, a foil for her pale skin. She looked so frail and delicate that his insides clenched in reaction, his nerves suddenly welling up inside him again, making him falter in the doorway.

He walked across the linoleum floor, his shoes making barely a sound. Her eyes drifted upwards, eyes as blue as the sky on a summer’s day stared out at him. He swallowed, unsure of what to do or say, where to begin. He was a senior police officer, highly decorated, leader of an elite team of investigators yet before her he felt like a rookie on his first case.

“Hi,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

She stared at him, the silence hanging between them like an impenetrable curtain. Her face revealed nothing but the exhaustion she was currently feeling. He waited for a sign, something that would tell him they had a chance, a future, together. Just as he felt that all was lost she smiled, a gentle, warm smile that reminded him of sunshine breaking through on a rainy day.

“Hi,” she whispered back, her voice a gentle caress across his frayed nerves. Her eyes met his, their connection as strong and intense as it always had been. Looking deep into their cerulean depths he saw that all of their worries and troubles that had dogged them had disappeared. They had a future and he vowed that from this moment onwards, he would do everything in his power to make it as secure as he could for her, for him and for the son they had created out of their love.