Each interaction with the hospital staff feels like a subtle power shift.
They hold the authority, and I am just a visitor, sidestepped in my own daughter’s care.
The nurses glance away when I try to ask about her condition.
It’s as if my presence is inconsequential.
My sister, on the other hand, is greeted with familiarity.
Her words seem to carry weight, where mine fall flat.
I’m told it’s for the best, but their reassurances feel hollow.
The room where my daughter lies is just beyond that door.
Yet, it feels miles away.
I’m left to piece together fragments of information from what little I’m told.
This silence grows, fills the space between us.
I can only imagine what my sister is doing inside.
What decisions are being made without me.
The clock ticks louder.
Each second a reminder of the distance growing.
My appointment looms closer, and I feel unprepared.
What will they tell me?
What can I do?
The uncertainty is suffocating.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
