The incessant pause,
pregnant or otherwise,
saps my resolve and my mind.
Thoughts half developed are
interrupted by the sound
of a repetitive loud speaker,
calling Doctor Proctor,
paging the head nurse,
alerting a Code Blue.
And you sit with patience
wearing paper thin for
some word, some clue,
that this vigil will be falsely in vain.
But as the hours slink by,
the flow of other families,
hoping, praying, united,
remains steady and drawn out.
Long into the night, your
angst has turned into
an exercise in futility.
Intensive Care Nightmare.
And still, you are waiting.



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