Déjà Vu

Yesterday, I found myself reliving an old, uncomfortable routine.

In the middle of the work day, I packed up my computer, grabbed my purse, and walked quickly out of my office with my head down.

I stopped by the café in my building for a quick snack.

I hurriedly walked to my car, threw my bags in the backseat, and left.

I headed north on Gilbert Avenue, immediately cursing myself for taking the same route as always, forgetting (as always) there are quicker ways to go.

I slowly made my way east to west across Clifton.

I pulled into the parking garage at Good Sam, cursing the crappy old structure where I once had to get snappy with an old man who almost killed me in his Cadillac.

I took the elevator down from the garage, entered the hospital, and took the north elevator to the sixth floor.

I made a left, then a right, then two lefts, and found myself in the surgical waiting room. And I sat and waited.

It was a different person in surgery today, a different time of year, a modified group of people waiting for an outcome. But even now, the routine itself opens old wounds.

In the middle of the work day, I packed up my computer, grabbed my purse, and walked quickly out of my office with my head down. Because it’s too hard to explain to the curious faces the reason for my rush.

I stopped by the café in my building for a quick snack. Because I have no idea how long I’ll be waiting, or when I’ll feel like eating again.

I hurriedly walked to my car, threw my bags in the backseat, and left. Because I’m needed more elsewhere.

I headed north on Gilbert Avenue, immediately cursing myself for taking the same route as always, forgetting (as always) there are quicker ways to go. Because time is of the essence.

I slowly made my way east to west across Clifton. Because it’s where all the hospitals are.

I pulled into the parking garage at Good Sam, cursing the crappy old structure where I once had to get snappy with an old man who almost killed me in his Cadillac. Because he was delaying me from getting to her.

I took the elevator down from the garage, entered the hospital, and took the north elevator to the sixth floor. Because I don’t need to be told where surgery happens in this building.. I remember.

I made a left, then a right, then two lefts, and found myself in the surgical waiting room. And I sat and waited. Because it’s all I can do.