That your phone rings and you answer it to find that your husband or wife has been in a terrible accident and is not expected to live. “Hurry!” they tell you, and a friend rushes you to the hospital, while you pray you’re in time.
The Critical Care Unit is five floors up and you dash into the first elevator you see, stabbing the button again and again, as if that will make it move faster. The other passengers look at you with pity, then shrink away, as if your ill luck might be contagious. In the grip of a terror such as you have never known, you grasp the waist-high metal rail to stay upright.
Finally the ping announces your floor. You release your death grip and fling yourself through the door, glancing wildly from side to side for the nurses’ station. And there, surely no more than yards from the door you seek so desperately, you are halted by the long and pitiless arm of the Law. You know the Law I mean, the one that says that marriage is only legal for a man and a woman. You are not family. You can’t go in.
Your frantic pleas, your tears and struggles, are met with stony faces, hospital policy and threats of summoning Security. Panic threatens to become hysteria. What must your darling think of your absence, left afraid and alone to face the unknown, not knowing that the distance between you can be measured in mere yards. What can you do?
You wait there, helplessly, as the minutes tick by. A doctor in blood-stained scrubs wearily approaches the desk. He hands one of the nurses a chart. You hear a familiar name murmured, with regret, and you know your life is over, too. And you never had the chance to say goodbye.
Can you imagine?
About the Author: Melody J Haislip
Born in a small, Illinois log cabin. No, that won't work. The pampered only child of incredibly wealthy parents. No, that doesn't fly either. Raised by French nuns after her aristocratic parents were beheaded. No, that's been done! An East Coast transplant to the Pacific Northwest, this notoriously late bloomer began her new life with a new career as a writer and blogger. She has taken to both the new location and the career move like a duck to water. Writing for Expats Post is a new adventure, and our intrepid risk-taker is diving in, feeling right at home with so many old friends.
Reached for comment she replied, "Okay, I wrote my bio, may I Please go out and play?"
We expect great, or perhaps merely more coherent, things from this writer. (Okay, that's a wrap. What a wacko!)