green. and yellow

I really had to think twice before picking up that phone to dial the recovery room.

I had, after all, only been waiting about an hour or so. Which, when judged against all possible scenarios playing out behind swinging doors, seems a small price to pay. I guess I was simply following orders: "If your father doesn't come out in an hour, then just take a right after the waiting room and find out what's going on." Yes, it's always best to inquire when waiting in a hospital.

The woman on the other end of the line tells me she has no record of my father and suggests the possibility he has already been disharged. Impossible, I reply. I am his ride home. "Well then just come in and see if you can find him." 

I spent a large part of my childhood convinced I was going to become a doctor. I remember visiting Mommy in the physio department and really wanting that life-sized skeleton for my bedroom. I'm not even sure why I never did get it. She would always tell me about studying and dissecting Charlie at McGill and I simply assumed I would do the same. I knew I had the brains and, well, blood and guts were just not issues for me.

Not anymore. Now, I'm 'squeemish guy' at the hospital. (original, I know) I can't even watch people throw up - although I believe I learned that one back in high school.
So I'm walking down this narrow hallway looking for my father, steering clear of  'Intensive Care' doors and used clothing bins. I walk into an open room with beds in all directions and find myself fixated on a middle-aged woman who is pale green. Something about that colour makes me not notice my father waiving from the bad almost directly in front of me. The two-minute day surgery was a success, he tells me, but he's been frozen from the waist down for the last five hours. We make small talk, but I'm distracted by the tiny drops of blood on his gown and the patient moaning "Madame?" to his left. Her toes are curling from the pain. Meanwhile, the green woman is tearing up. I can't make out why. The nurse says her fears are all very normal. It will take some getting used to. Outside, they're removing the fresh fluffy snow so effortlessly.

My father is finally cleared for discharge. He gets changed while the janitor mops the floor around us. I make it a point to smile at the green woman before I leave.