S p r i n g 2 013
Wilda Morris
A Night in Dad’s Hospital Room The nurse turns the heat up so high I can hardly breathe. An ambulance pulls up to the emergency entrance, siren shrieking. Somewhere a monitor pours out beeps, pauses, then starts again. Dad’s oxygen humidifier bubbles. The medicine cart squeaks down the hall. In a nearby room, a toilet is flushed. A bed pan hits the floor. The cough in the next bed on the other side of the curtain resembles a death rattle. I strain to hear my father’s shallow breath.
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