Sunday, August 14, 2011

A Love Story

He was very handsome- a student at a prestigious university, a curly lock of chestnut hair hanging jauntily over one eye, an attitude of nonchalance.

She was gorgeous- straight aquiline nose, large bright eyes, dressed in carefully put-together careless chic- short flower sundress with a princess waist and sneakers.

He was trying to make jokes and stop her from crying.
She was crying uncontrollably.

He was stuck on a backboard with a C-collar on after fainting outside the restaurant.
She was beside herself, walking around, trying to be brave, control her tears for him.

He stayed the jokester, making sure to tease her for crying through my EKG, the insertion of an iv, the splurting of blood everywhere, through his shivering fits (before I ran for a warm blanket from the trauma bay), through a rectal exam. He laughed at her.
She could do nothing but watch, pace, and worry... maybe make a phone call or two. She cried silently, since he couldn't sit up to see her, tears flowing down her beautiful face.

His temperature was 103.2. He might have meningitis.
She stayed at his feet and stroked them silently, watching only his face and none of our action around her.

He went to CT scan and x-ray.
She came back in from a phone call and waited in the room... pacing, bracing her arms around herself, worry etched in every line of her young face.

He was still there... for an hour.
She was still waiting. Would always be waiting. I got her a warm blanket she could wrap around her to protect her from the cold, stark, lonely room.

They were in love. It was beautiful to see.

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