Emergency Delayed

By Abigail Doonan 


“Name please.”
“Abigail D-O-O-N-A-”
“Okay. Please wait.”


Pulse.


A man holding his child,
sleeping.
A homeless guy and a police officer.


“Abigail.”
Me.
“Can you rate your pain on a scale from 1-10?”
Silence.
“6?”
What if I’m overexaggerating?


Pulse.


A woman holding a bag of ice over her nose,
her son sitting beside her.
Three girls talking in a different language,
I don’t understand.


“Doonan.”
Me.


I sit in the hallway next to the room filled with noises,
making it hard to sleep.
My mind is filled with screaming noises,
making it hard to sleep.


Scream. Beep. Scream. Beep. SCREAM. beep.


This hallway is filled with chaos.
Worried… frantic…
Nurses running every which way,
doctors checking on patients
seeing if they’re okay.


“Can you rate your pain on a scale from 1-10?”
I’d give it an 8 but I say
“6.”


Pulse.


There is silence in my head but noise all around.
Noise that is too much to take in.
So I sit there and worry
and feel my pulse.


Beat. Beat. Beat.

 

It quickens,
racing like it wants to reach the finish line;
the rest of my body won’t let it.


Beat. Beat. Beat.

“Hello.”
“…hi.”


Silence.
A few clicks.
Click. Click. Click.

“It’s broken…”
Silence.
Pulse.
“Can you rate your pain on a scale from 1-10?”
“10.”

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